


The City as You Walk

by Primarina (sherlockstummy)



Series: Give Me the Music [1]
Category: Game Grumps, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Blood and Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Food, Food Kink, Gang Violence, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Murder, Murder Mystery, Organized Crime, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 16:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 30,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10745682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockstummy/pseuds/Primarina
Summary: Believe me, I know that heaven will let you down.





	1. We Run This Town

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw this great fic by odonavidan called "Run This Town" that was a Grand Theft Auto AU and I loved it, so I decided to latch onto the universe and write my own! So, here we go! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> PS: There may be more violence later...we shall see.
> 
> PSS: This fic is not positive towards Jon Jafari, so if you care about that, I'll see you later!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I saw this great fic by odonavidan called "Run This Town" that was a Grand Theft Auto AU and I loved it, so I decided to latch onto the universe and write my own! So, here we go! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> PS: There may be more violence later...we shall see.
> 
> PSS: This fic is not positive towards Jon Jafari, so if you care about that, I'll see you later!

As the effects of the drug wear off, he feels a sense of clarity, as if he’s just woken from a dream.

Dan Avidan is not a drug addict, let’s make that clear. If you sample too much of the merchandise, then you risk becoming as worse as your customers, and getting it for free is a dangerous temptation. No, he doesn’t take more than he needs. Last night, he needed Adderall. That’s what happens when some idiot schedules a drop for ass-fuck o’clock and you have to ensure that your new smuggler isn’t going to fuck it up. True, he wasn’t really there, just staying watchful over com channels, his hands shaking, his mind itching to do something, anything.

Adderall did make him productive, though, so he managed to set up a running schedule for the month and send it out to all the dealers via private channel on the Deep Web. One had to be careful using the darker side of the internet, as there were always psychos out there who could take hold of your computer. But he didn’t have a choice. It’s not like a drug lord can send out anything through Gmail with a thousand CCs and Re: Drug Shipments and Assignments :) :), now could he?

Dan was leaning out over the balcony of his lavish mansion, protected against the cold morning air in a baggy sweatshirt, an old Rush tee shirt, and jeans that were practically ripped to hell. The fact that he dressed more like a druggie than a drug lord probably kept him safe in the end, though there were times when it caused insubordination. He hadn’t had to deal with that in a while, though. Shame; there was something satisfying in sadism. He smiled to himself, ruffling a hand through his eternally bushy curls, his forehead brushing against the cool railing. He could feel the burn of exhaustion behind his eyes and the heavy presence of his lithe body, but he wasn’t craving rest. He should brush his teeth and head out to work. Some of his dealers would be ending their shifts soon, and his presence was always required.

He heard the knock on his bedroom door through the open glass door behind him, and turned to see Brian enter, looking as formidable as usual in a black tee shirt and dark-wash jeans. Though he now had a daughter to take care of at home, Brian was still just as loyal to Danny as he had been on day one. Over the years, the “ninja” (an affectionate nickname and surprisingly accurate codename) had served Dan in many ways; body guard, assassin, torturer. He trusted Brian with his life, and though Dan seemed like a calm, easy-going person, Brian was one of the only people he trusted…period.

Brian surveyed the room, his eyes falling on Danny’s untouched bed, the silk sheets and silk pillowcases all in a beautiful ocean blue topped by a chocolate brown comforter in all weather (since Danny was always cold), before the ice blue eyes landed back on his employer and friend. “I see you were up all night.”

Dan nodded, walking into the room. Though L.A. was a city that thrived on crime, he was always paranoid about turning his back on it. “We got a new smuggler recently. I wanted to make sure she could be trusted. Fucking cocaine waifs.” He closed the balcony door and the shades with a resounding clack before flopping onto the king-sized four-poster in the darkened room, shutting his eyes wearily. 

Brian raised an eyebrow. “I thought she was clean. Drug tests didn’t come back positive for coke.”

“Former cocaine waif, then.” Dan gestured aimlessly, carelessly, in Brian’s direction with an annoyed huff. “Cocaine’s a hell of a drug, highly addictive. There’s no guarantee she won’t go back to it.”

“I gather she did a good job, however,” Brian went on, leaning casually against the doorframe, the hint of a smug smile tugging at his lips, “or you’d be done with her already.”

“She’s good.” Dan nodded, stretching with a grunt. “Her stature works in our favor; she’s harder to spot, and God, she sprints like a fucking gazelle.” He snapped his fingers, sitting up abruptly. “Gazelle. That’s what I’ll call her.”

Brian clapped slowly in sarcasm and Dan cheerfully flipped him off. 

“Is the car here yet?” Dan asked after a moment of silence. He’d lost track of it; maybe he’d dozed off. More likely, he was zoning out; it happened frequently.

“It will be momentarily. Would you like some breakfast?” Add “cook” to the long list of things Brian did for him.

Dan rolled his shoulders. Adderall made him lose his appetite, and he didn’t have any weed on him. Besides, being high before going to work was probably not a good idea. He should eat, though. “Toast?”

“I’ll make it on Jewish rye, just how you like it.” Brian cackled as Danny flipped him off again.

Once Dan had freshened up and changed out his sweatshirt for his favorite leather jacket, he plodded down the staircase and traipsed through his living room to the kitchen. He’d always been minimalist in design, barely showing off anything of his personality, but since he was a drug lord of some note, it was even more important that he stayed anonymous. There were no pictures of his family where anyone would find them, and the only remnant of personal tastes at all was a few New York Giants memorabilia here and there. Well, that and the classic Nintendo system connected to his overlarge television. Since he was rich, he decorated with extravagance, but it was more to show off his wealth than anything.

Brian was buttering toast in the kitchen like it was a thing to do, his switchblade poking out of his back pocket. He was humming as he worked, some old eighties tune. Dan picked it up and hummed along as he went hunting for orange juice in his fridge. If he weren’t running a drug empire in L.A., Dan would definitely be in music. He’d always wanted to start a band as a kid.

“You’re out of groceries again,” Brian tutted as Dan flopped like a thrown ragdoll into the nearest chair, one foot resting on the polished mahogany chair across from him and munching on a slice of toast he’d swiped from Brian’s stack, more out of obligation than hunger.

Danny shrugged listlessly, sipping at his orange juice. His fridge was almost never stocked because he struggled with keeping his appetite. It was difficult between the side effects of Adderall and the fact that he was working pretty much every waking moment of his life. Speaking of which…he patted his pocket, relieved when he felt the familiar shape of his karambit. He had several knives, including a switchblade like Brian’s that he kept in his desk at the hideout, but this one was his favorite. He enjoyed the raptor’s claw look of it, and his long fingers made using it a blast.

Not that he had to. It’s what he had Brian for, after all. But Dan was not untrained in the art of combat; he’d taken martial arts for years and studied a variety of styles. He was more than capable of holding his own in a fight, should the need arise.

Brian turned, munching on a piece of toast as well. “Don’t make me bring groceries here. I absolutely will.”

“Bring me weed and groceries, then we’ll talk.” Dan smirked.

“If it’s the only way you’ll eat a full meal, I’ll arrange it.”

Dan sighed. “I know you worry about me, but I’m holding up all right.”

“Better than your belt’s holding up your jeans, that’s for sure.” Brian narrowed his eyes.

“Ugh, fine! I’ll find time to smoke a bowl! Happy?”

Brian smiled warmly, but started when he heard a car pulling up outside. “That must be the car. Let me scope it; follow on my say-so.”

Danny nodded, muscling down the rest of his toast slice and abandoning his orange juice after a final swig. One Brian gave him the all-clear, Dan followed his bodyguard out to the car.

The drug lord relaxed against the plush interior of his bullet-proof, blacked out car, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He was starting to get sleepy now, as he wasn’t as young as he used to be, so late nights tended to affect him more. 

It would take a while to get to the hideout from his home. He could afford to rest before the day began.


	2. Walk into the Shade

Dan rolled the blunt expertly between his fingers, swiveling in his chair as his hands shook just slightly, tongue trapped between his teeth as he concentrated. He could almost do it with his eyes closed at this point. The day was going slowly, and he wanted to break it up with a takeaway, which was why he was lighting up, hoping for a serious case of the munchies.

He had the blunt between his lips, fingers flicking against the lighter in his hand, when a knock sounded at the door, followed by 5’10’’ of Australian.

Dan nearly fell out of his chair in surprise and flipped the lighter closed. “Fuck, dude!” He growled. “Do you want me to set our offices on fire?!”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s important!” Ross was breathing heavily, his blue eyes wide and nervous. He pushed the big E for a living, and was highly successful at that. Besides, he’d been with Danny since the beginning. They were friends, even though Ross could get on Dan’s nerves. 

Dan groaned, setting down the blunt on his desk. Ross saw this and grinned mischievously. “Aww, sorry, did I interrupt drug time?”

Dan flipped him off. “I wanted to have an appetite for once. Sue me.” He let out a breath of air, running a hand through his curls as he sat back, lacing his fingers together and resting his clasped hands over his stomach. “What’s the urgency? Weren’t you supposed to be off-shift hours ago?”

Ross nodded. “I was, uh, about to go home, but one of my regulars stopped me. I thought she wanted some E, but she actually told me something…I thought you needed to know right away.” He looked back over his shoulder.

“Is she here?” Dan asked levelly, already knowing the answer. Ross nodded. “Very well. Send her in.” As Ross turned to leave, he slipped the rolled blunt and his lighter into the drawer. A good smoke and a better lunch would have to wait; this was important.

A moment later, there was a nervous knock on the door, and a woman entered his office. She was your typical ecstasy user: petite, blonde, hourglass figure. Her hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, her face without makeup looking haggard. Her wrists were covered in plastic snap bracelets, like the kind you might receive at an amusement park, all in bright, eye-burning colors. As she approached his desk, Dan noticed the slight shimmer of a stamp on her hand.

Turning on the charm, Dan leaned forward, his elbows propping up his chin on the desk. “What can I do for you, Miss…?”

“Rain.” The petite woman replied in a slightly hoarse voice. Her fingers fiddled nervously with a holographic cross-body bag nestled against her hip. 

“Rain,” Dan repeated, smoothing out his voice further. “Please go on. Rubber tells me you have some interesting news.” All of his dealers went by codenames. It was important so that, if a customer got violent or a dealer needed to switch sections, no one would know their real name. Well, as far as the company was concerned. He knew a few of his dealers were on a first-name basis with each other. That was on their heads if somebody narked.

Rain nodded, her ponytail bouncing with the movement. “My sister goes to school up here, and she recently got into the drug scene. She’s been communicating with one of your dealers, on my recommendation.”

“How kind. Go on.”

Rain hesitated, looking down at her feet as they shifted on the carpet. “I…she…she recently became addicted to…meth…”

Dan’s stomach turned and his eyes narrowed. “Which dealer was she in contact with? Do you know?” He may have been a drug lord, but he was a drug lord with morals. His business was about non-lethals (mostly hallucinogens like weed and shrooms) and prescriptions. Ecstasy was the only “hard” drug he allowed his dealers to push. 

Anyone caught dealing the hard stuff clearly had a death wish.

“He goes by Ex. I don’t know what his real name is.”

“You’ve been a big help, Rain. Thank you.” Dan was tense under his desk, but he waited for her to leave before he stood up, boiling with rage. He circled around the room like a hungry shark, clenching his fists tight before sweeping all of the papers off his desk as he growled. “That fucking snake! I should’ve never given him the college circuit.” He tugged at his hair in fury.

Ross poked his head in. “You okay, Boss?”

“Get me Brian!” Danny snarled, making Ross retreat. It was rare for the drug lord to fly into a rage, but it was serious business when he did.

Brian entered the room expecting a storm. He found Dan facing the large windows in the back of the office, hands clasped behind his back. His long fingers twitched in agitation, and as soon as the door was shut, he whirled around towards Brian. “I can’t fucking believe this shit!” He growled, gesticulating wildly.

“What’s the problem?” Brian asked coolly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dan’s lip curled and he threw up his hands again. “Fucking Ex! I warned him when we took him on, didn’t I? That no hard drugs except ecstasy come through here! Did you hear me tell ‘im?”

Brian nodded. “You reiterated it several times throughout the interview.”

“And now, thanks to him, we’ve got a college kid hooked on meth!” Dan closed inward, pulling his arms into his chest and slumping his shoulders as if he was trying to collapse his ribcage. “We can’t let this continue.” He bit his lip. “As much as I hate to do this…” His mocha eyes found Brian’s. “We have to make an example out of him.”

Brian’s mouth slid into a predatory smile and he cracked his knuckles. “Gladly, my lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Brian would call Dan "my lord." Of course he would.
> 
> Is it too obvious that I have never done a drug in my life? T.T


	3. First Interlude

Livewire hated this part of the job. Black Magic knew that, but also informed her that this was too important to ignore. Private clients were what kept the business going, after all. At least Livewire had her tracker on, a steel bracelet made to look like a bangle outfitted with the latest in GPS tracking technology. Some might cry “Big Brother,” but a working girl headed out to a client alone in the dark was surely grateful for it knowing the watchful eyes of Black Magic and Little Bird knew her every move.

The gentleman seemed nice enough. He invited her in, offered her coffee or tea. Some of them just wanted someone to talk to, after all, and Livewire didn’t mind providing that service. But when he started unbuttoning his pants, she knew that she could never be so lucky, a girl like her called just for a chat.

Such is the price you pay for being pretty.

He led her into the bedroom, a messy place that smelled slightly stale and slightly of Central Park, though she couldn’t recall why the stench made her think of that. He asked her to strip down for him, and she used her usual tricks, putting her big butt to good use.

It was missionary tonight, and he pressed down on top of her, sliding into her with a lewd groan. She winced, hating that he hadn’t used lube or even fingered her open, but she had to act the part, didn’t she?

He put his hands around her neck, and she moaned, arching appropriately. But…that wasn’t right. That was too tight! 

Livewire began to kick and flail around, trying to get him off her, trying to get away from him, but he was too strong and too heavy.

As Livewire fought, she thought of her baby, and prayed that he’d understand why she’d chosen this path in her life.

She hoped he knew that it was all to give him a better life than the one she had.


	4. Said the Spider to the Fly

Stevens did not know where he was when the blindfold was ripped off his head. There was a single light in the room, a naked bulb swaying back and forth like the lure on a football fish. There was a throbbing pain on the back of his head, and as he tried to remember what had happened after he left the bar, it was a blur. 

He tried to move his arms, but found them bound by rope tied in neat little knots. His stomach dropped and he wriggled in the creaky wooden chair, trying to get free. But whoever had tied the knots knew what they were doing.

God damn it, he was so fucked. His only comfort was that Boss Sexbang looked after his own, and no one wanted to mess with the murderous Ninja. If the rival gang didn’t kill him first, he’d be safe by next sunrise.

He was just starting to relax when he heard footsteps approaching from in front of and behind him. The toe of a pair of beaten trainers could just barely be seen on the edge of the circle of light the swinging bulb created on the floor. It made Stevens dizzy to look at it, but he forced himself to, if only because it was the only evidence he could see of his captors, and he wanted to memorize everything so that when he was picked up by Sexbang’s men, he could tell them exactly what he saw.

There was a humorless chuckle from the darkness and a flapping sound. Paper? No, not quite…money? His captors had robbed him of his drug money. Shit. Sexbang wouldn’t be happy about losing out on his 1/16th share.

“Oh, Stevens,” rumbled a familiar voice. “What a fucking idiot you are.”

Stevens blinked, trying to see into the darkness. “…Boss?”

An arm shot out of the shadows and long fingers decked out in rings clasped the chair of the bulb, metal on metal clinking together merrily. “That was gonna make me barf,” the voice went on, casually, as if he were talking to a good friend. Stevens could finally see the outline of Boss Sexbang; thin, stubbed face with a strong jaw and a cleft chin, high cheekbones making shadows fall long across his lean body. 

“Boss!” Stevens cried out in relief, making Sexbang look directly at him. “Holy shit, am I glad to see you! Whoever got me musta run off, the cowards!” He beamed, relieved to see his savior. “Now, untie me, Boss, and let’s get outta here!”

Sexbang had cocked his head as he listened to Stevens’ rant, but as the jovial man spoke, he smiled like a hungry snake, his eyes sparkling, and Stevens immediately felt ill at ease.

“…Boss…?” The dealer asked, his voice trembling.

“You think we’re here to rescue you?” Sexbang walked forward into the light, ducking his head as he passed under the bulb. “Heh. Cute.” His smile was still coy and hungry, his eyes sparking with a dangerous light. He gripped Stevens’ jaw between his forefinger and thumb, forcing the other man to look upwards. If the scene were from a movie, it would probably be laughable, for the taller man’s lithe, almost wraith-like body was a stark comparison to the burly, muscular Stevens. 

And yet, the stick insect was the one in charge here.

Sexbang was staring down into Stevens’ green eyes, and the dealer felt entranced, as if he was actually caught by a hungry snake. He watched the dangerous hazel eyes as they watched him, could only feel the pressure of his fingers on his jaw, could only hear Sexbang’s breath. He wasn’t aware of the other figure moving silently into position.

“You know the rules of my organization, Stevens.” Sexbang purred, sharply dropping Stevens’ jaw with a flick of his wrist and pulling away, one hand reaching into his pocket. 

“No!” Stevens trembled, his eyes wide. He had heard tell of how skilled Sexbang was with his karambit, and he didn’t want to see for himself. “Please, Boss! I’m beggin ya! Don’t!”

Sexbang chuckled, his hand withdrawing a stack of money. Stevens’ drug money. He opened the bills in his palm and wet his finger carelessly as he flipped through them, counting. “My, my, and how much did you spend at the bar? How much of this was because of a girl’s suffering?”

“Boss, I can explain…”

“You will explain nothing.” Sexbang’s head shot up, his eyes hard and cold, his mouth in a firm line. “You knew what you were getting into when you became a pusher for me, Stevens. I thought I could trust you, but, clearly, I was wrong.” He pocketed the bills and snapped his fingers.

The knife to his stomach happened so fast that Stevens could barely register the figure that killed him. The Ninja’s speed was indeed legendary.

Dan’s eyes flickered over Stevens as he bled out, and then fell on Brian, standing over him, his muscles tense, body shaking. “Well, there goes my appetite,” he said bitterly, pulling his leather jacket around his ribcage. “You okay, man?”

Brian nodded tersely. “He deserved it for going against your will.”

“Mm.” Dan reached into his other pocket and fished out his phone. It was an encrypted iPhone with an untraceable signature that hadn’t been updated for a year. He needed a good tech guy, but he hadn’t been able to find anyone on the Deep Web. He tossed it to Brian. “Take some pictures. We’ll post ‘em to our webpage.”

Brian grinned as he gleefully snapped a few pics. “Watch anyone double-cross us now.” As much as he hated to admit it, due to its indication of darker, unresolved issues, the Ninja loved this part of his job. As a sadist, he enjoyed torture, and, in his eyes, anyone who went against his dear friend deserved suffering and death.

Once he was satisfied with his work, he tossed the phone back to Danny, who caught it skillfully, long hands curling around it. The boss did a cursory flick through the photos and his stomach heaved. He quickly put the phone away, sighing. “Still not sure if scum-for-brains was worth losing my appetite for.” He tilted his head back, seeking answers on the empty ceiling. “Are the janitors here yet?”

Brian nodded. “Awaiting instructions upstairs.”

“Good.” Danny nodded tersely. “Can you handle cleanup? I wanna get some sleep.”

Brian nodded again. “Wait for me in the car. I’ll give instructions and then join you.”

Dan nodded, giving Brian a double thumbs-up before turning away from the scene and heading upstairs to the waiting car. As expected, Brian was not long downstairs, and soon enough, the boss and his trusted bodyguard were headed back towards Dan’s mansion.

Little did they know that the police were busy elsewhere tonight.


	5. I Work Hard for the Money

Holly ran her hands through Dan’s wild mane of hair, her fingers catching in a tangle and using that opportunity to tug, just a little, just enough for him to feel it. She was rewarded with a whine of pleasure-pain as his stubbly chin tickled her shoulder, his lips just ghosting along the base of her neck. 

“Mmm, you like that, baby?” Holly purred in his ear, loving the feel of his big hands on her hips, his thumbs slipping below the waistline of her skirt to rub at her hipbones.

“Fuck, Holl, you know I do,” Dan breathed in response, arching his back as he tried to relieve some of the pressure on his erect cock.

Holly chuckled, one hand reaching down to cup around his dick, feeling it twitch in his jeans. It was so easy to get him aroused, especially when he was high, when all the sensations were multiplied for him. As expected, he bucked up into her palm, whimpering at the stimulation.

She nuzzled his nose tenderly, smiling before she kissed him, soft and sweet. He tasted like weed and mint toothpaste, and Holly slid her other hand down to brush against his ribs and stomach. “Hey, baby, let’s get you relaxed, hmm?” She straddled him easily, his hands flying to adjust so he could hold her in place. “Would you like that, baby boy?”

“Fuuuucckk,” Dan moaned, throwing his head back as he squirmed underneath her, crying out as she bit at his neck and soothed the pain with kisses.

“A blowjob?” She murmured against his warm skin. “I’m offering.”

“Yeah, yeah, Holly, please, fuck yeah,” Danny gasped, sounding shocked. It was adorable.

“I still love your cock, baby,” Holly murmured, sliding down Dan’s thin, elegant body, nuzzling at his dick through his jeans and smiling when his hand found purchase in her hair. “Feels so good in my mouth. Danny, I want your big, fat cock. I want you to come in my mouth. I wanna taste you. I wanna do this for you.” She unbuttoned his jeans with one hand, her gray eyes finding and holding his hazy brown ones. “Can I, Danny? Please?”

Dan bit his lower lip, sighing deeply. “O-only if that’s what you…d-don’t feel like you…”

“I miss your dick,” Holly told him, tugging down his jeans and boxers as he lifted his hips to help her. “I wouldn’t be offering if it wasn’t okay.” She kissed the tip of his dick sweetly, in lieu of kissing his face. “But thank you for asking.”

“Yeah, sure, no—hnnnggghhhhhhh,” Dan’s words were cut off by a groan as Holly took him deep inside her. He was so close from being teased already, and he could tell, because his mouth was running and he was fighting himself not to buck into her tight, wet heat as she worked at him. “Holly, Holly, Holly,” he chanted like a prayer. “Holly, don’t stop, don’t ever stop. Shit! Oh, shit, I’m close, I’m so close. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” And then he was cumming, his seed spilling down her throat. Holly swallowed him down, milking him for every last drop. Then, she was kissing his thighs as his cock softened, whispering soft platitudes against the hot skin.

As he zipped back up and flopped back on the bed, boneless and sated, Holly bent over him and kissed him soundly, her small hands holding his cheeks. She tasted like his semen, and Dan hummed as she pulled away.

“Wait!” He said, leaning up on his elbows in dazed confusion. “What about you? I can…”

“No offense, babe,” Holly called over her shoulder, “but Suzy gives better oral than you. And you’re shit at it when you’re high, anyway.” She opened up the pizza box sitting on the table in Dan’s bedroom, thankful it was still warm, and took a bite before putting that slice on a plate and gathering another, piling three onto it. She walked back over to Dan, who was lazing against his pillows, his eyes far off.

He jumped when she sat the plate on his stomach. “Wha…?”

“Eat up.” Holly ordered, munching on her own slice. “God knows you haven’t all day.”

Danny stared at the pizza as if it was going to bite him for a moment before looking up at Holly. “Where’s the blunt? I need another hit.” 

Holly nodded and fetched the blunt out of the ash tray by the balcony. She brought it and the lighter back to Dan, watching as he lit up.

Danny inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs and exhaled again with a sigh. He did it again, just for good measure, and then tapped out the lit end on his end table. It took a minute for the hunger to kick in, but once it did, he dove upon the pizza slices like a starving man. Which, to be fair, he was. 

Holly watched in satisfaction, finishing up her own slice and then leaving the chair to get him some more food, for he would, inevitably, ask for it. She’d brought a nice bag of Skittles and some Cheetos for him as well. Admittedly, it wasn’t the healthiest meal ever, but hey, pizza was a vegetable. On second thought, she’d bring him the pizza box, too.

Once Danny was settled with his feast, Holly cuddled up beside him, nibbling at his Skittles every so often, waiting patiently until he’d had his fill. She’d heard from Ross how he’d given a portion of Ex’s drug money to Rain and her family to help pay for her sister’s treatment and other expenses. He really did look out for his own in more ways than one, and it was so uncommon to hear of a benevolent drug lord.

She loved him. And yes, Suzy was the love of her life, but she loved Danny, too. And Suzy understood; even though she herself was gay, she loved Dan, too. In her own way.

Dan belched loudly, saying “ralph” as he did so and making Holly giggle. He lay back with a content yawn, closing his eyes against the pillows, stomach distended from the sheer volume of food he’d eaten.

“Holy shit,” Danny hummed, pleased with himself. “I forgot I could eat that much!”

Holly sat up and lazily rubbed circles on his tummy. “Mmm. Thank goodness for the munchies, or you’d never get any food down you.”

“Amen.” Danny belched again.

Companionable silence passed between them. Dan’s breathing was starting to slow, and Holly knew that now was the time to let him know something. It was incredibly important, and why Suzy had sent her out to him in lieu of one of her other girls. As much as she hated to wake him, he needed to know.

“Danny,” she hissed. “Danny!” She gently shook his shoulder.

“Huh? Wha? ‘M up,” Dan yawned hugely, gingerly shifting until he was more or less sitting up. “What’s wrong, Holl?”

Holly clasped her hands together. “I…Suzy wanted you to know something…”

“Hm? What’s that?” Dan braced his head against his arm, smiling lazily.

“It’s about Livewire.”

Dan’s face fell at her despondent tone. “What happened, Holly?” He sat up fully now, placing a hand on her arm. The position didn’t look comfortable due to his overfull stomach, and he had to shift to accommodate it. 

The affection from him made Holly start to tear up. “She’s…” She dove into his shoulder, grasping at his warmth. “Oh, God, Danny.”

“Babe,” Dan soothed, running his hand through her hair. “What happened? Tell me.”

“She’s dead!”

Dan felt nauseous. He looked down at her. “Holly…why did you put on a show for me?” He asked gently as tears fell down her cheeks, holding her as she sobbed. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

“I…I…” Holly sniffled. “I thought…I thought it would help me tell you! I thought I could say it c-calmly…” She closed her eyes against his shoulder. “I love you, so much.”

“I know.” Dan pressed his lips against her forehead. “I love you, too.” He wracked his brain for information about Livewire. He had a passing familiarity with all of Suzy’s girls, but he’d never met Livewire before. She was a little older, he thought, nearing the end of her prime, but still beautiful. And… “There was a child,” he said to himself, but Holly nodded. “Are they being cared for?”

Holly nodded again. “Suzy and I took him in. There’s family, we’re trying to find them.”

Dan waited. He knew Holly had more to say, but he didn’t want to rush her. 

After a moment, Holly calmed down enough to speak, though she stayed snuggled into his warmth. “She was murdered.”

Dan felt a chill run down his spine. “Are you sure?”

Holly nodded. “The police found her body…oh God, it was awful, the way she…it was as if an animal had attacked her.”

“Oh, my God.” Dan breathed. “Holy shit.”

Holly looked at Dan, her eyes cold. “We need to find the person that did this,” she said. “And we need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hard for it, honey.


	6. New Kid

If there was one thing that Arin Hanson hated, it was drugs. 

It was a necessary evil, to be sure, and he didn’t actually have anything against druggies, per se, he just didn’t understand them. Who could trust themselves enough to freely give up control?

As leader of the toughest gang in all of L.A., Arin got to act like a badass without fear. Lavish dinner parties, expensive suits, a huge fuckin limo with gold rims, that was his scene. Cops? Psh. He had friends who were cops. He didn’t have to worry about getting arrested; after all, he, the entity Arin Hanson, never disobeyed the law. He had lackeys to do that for him.

Gangs and drugs had existed side by side since the beginning of time. But Arin never let his men touch drugs. That’s why L.A. had a drug lord. 

Presumably. He’d never met the guy.

See, Arin had only rolled into town a few years ago. He and his men fought with local gangs to establish a toe-hold that had only expanded since. Thanks to his copper friends, local gang leaders were in jail, and their members were given a choice; join, die, or go to prison. When you get a set of choices like that, it’s not surprising most people choose “cake” over “death.”

Arin was still learning L.A. and all its intricacies. He’d never seen a town so deliciously ripe with crime, and, naturally, he wanted his fingers in every possible pie. Weapons smuggling, money laundering, even art forgeries. If you could think of it, and there wasn’t a market for it, Arin and his minions were there to fill the need.

And no, we’re not talking minions like those little yellow annoying jellybeans.

Arin spun around in his chair, turning his back on the city beyond the glass window in his office. “Fucking where the hell is Jon?! He should’ve been here by now!”

Barry and Mark, higher up members of his gang and personal friends, stood to attention once Arin spoke. Mark sat up from where he was reading through the local news on his encrypted phone and Barry was tinkering with the torrent he was running from an old iPad. 

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Barry reassured the boss calmly.

Mark ran a hand through his gelled hair, messing up a few strands in the process. “Yeah, he knows how valuable your time is worth.”

“That’s right,” Arin growled, steepling his fingers and curling his lips into a displeased snarl. “My word is law, and time is money.” Jon may have been his assassin, his most trusted general, and one of his oldest friends, but he didn’t get any special treatment because of that.

The door to the office swung open and in came Jon, dressed to the nines in a new black suit and freshly shined shoes. He had a mug of Starbucks coffee in one hand, the other holding his customary newsboys cap to his head. He was panting, red in the face from sprinting all the way here.

“Sorry I’m late, Grumpman.” Jon huffed out, closing the door behind him and approaching Arin’s desk. “Jacques was bein a real pain in the asscrack this mornin.”

Arin narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Jon, you know what I expect from all my minions. I’ll let it slide just this once, on account of our acquaintance. Just you mind it doesn’t happen again. Clear?”

“As a bell!” Jon replied, saluting before collapsing into giggles and slouching into one of the leather chairs in front of Arin’s desk.

“Okay, assholes,” Arin sat back in his chair, swiveling it absently. He, too, was dressed like a businessman, his hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, his suit a fancy navy blue pinstripe—classic gangster style—complete with a pink tie and matching pink argyle socks, topped off with brown brogues. “Now that Jon’s finally here, we can start. I want updates. Barry, how’s Operation: Hack It and Sack It goin?”

Barry straightened to attention, glancing over some details on the iPad in front of him as he spoke. “We managed to get 10,000 of the new iPhone before anyone else. Each one just has the basic code. If necessary, I can activate them for our own personal use and encrypt our software so no one can spy on us.”

“Can you delete the IOS off of the phones?”

Barry shrugged, ruffling his hair nervously. “Probably, but the phone may not run properly without some form of IOS. We’d need a bunch of Android phones if we wanted to replace the data with something else.” He made a note with his stylus. “Ummm…I’ve got some time, if you wanted me to crack open one of the phones, find out how they work.” 

Arin nodded. “I think that’d be best.” He turned to Mark. “How’s general surveillance? Do we know anything about that drug lord on the east side?”

Mark shook his head. “Nothing. I’ve been in deep myself over there, trying to track where he’s got dealers set up. They all go by code names and use encrypted phones. There’s nothing about them on any social media sites or regular internet searches. They might be on the Deep Web, but we don’t have anyone who specializes in those kinds of operations.”

“Right.” Arin ran his fingers over the scar on his lip his moustache was hiding, remnants of a knife fight when he was young, back when he was crawling his way to the top of a pithy gang back home. “Well, keep at it. Let me know what kinda supplies you need, if any. But I wanna know about that guy, what he does, how he operates. Dealers I don’t care for; I want the heart.”

“You got it, Boss.” Mark nodded tersely, making some notes on his phone.

“What about you?” Arin turned towards Jon, watching his old friend with his murky brown eyes, brows low on his forehead. “What have you found out? Are the rumors of a Madam true?”

A hungry grin spread slowly across Jon’s face. “Oh, they’re true, all right. And get this? It’s a girls-for-hire kinda place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first Arin chapter! Woof, I suck. 
> 
> More to come soon! Stay tuned!


	7. Women's Work

Suzy sat at her vanity table braiding her hair. “Is he gone yet?” She asked, glancing in the mirror at Holly’s reflection.

Holly had the long purple chiffon curtains on the window slightly parted so she had a good view of the street below. She shook her short pink locks. “Not yet, Suze.”

“Ugh. He thinks he’s so sly.” Suzy rolled her eyes. “We’ve got girls in here that need to go home. I don’t want him disrupting our work, or making them feel uncomfortable.”

It had always been Suzy Berhow’s dream to be a Madam, like the queens of the brothels in Victorian times. Sex work was different these days, but, with a little help from a successful career in modeling, she’d managed to change the face of sex work in L.A.

The large red brick penthouse was smack-dab in the middle of L.A.’s busier district, and acted as a sort of “home base” for all of Suzy’s girls. Joining her brothel meant protection for workers, porn stars, and escorts. In exchange for a share of their profits, the girls had access to discounted healthcare and birth control, as well as a lifetime supply of free condoms. It was important to Suzy that her girls feel safe and stayed healthy. 

The penthouse was not only a place to conduct business. For a larger share of their profits, girls could room here and have a place to stay while they worked for Suzy. And though Suzy’s brothel was female exclusive, anyone who identified as such found a home here, and she made sure that no girl felt unwanted. 

Suzy ran a tight ship, but her girls honestly appreciated it.

Holly traipsed over to where Suzy was sitting, barefoot in a long black skirt that swished along the carpet like the hissing of a snake. Before she’d started dating Suzy, Holly was just another sex worker, trying to make a name for herself in L.A. She’d wanted to be a model, but that hadn’t worked out. Homeless, she found the modern brothel and begged Suzy to let her stay. Holly was thankful every day that Suzy sensed she was special from the get-go, and had only sent her out to the most important clients.

One of those clients had just so happened to be Dan Avidan, L.A.’s resident drug lord. He’d been in power when Suzy came on the scene, and in return for free use of her services, Dan made the streets safe for her girls and provided drugs to the girls at discounted prices. At first, Suzy had been wary about sending her precious workers to a man for free, but the women returned from him with high praise.

Dan was gentle, considerate, and appreciative. Mustang, one of Suzy’s first girls, had been sent to him one night with a stomach ache. Instead of flying into a rage, Dan sent her home in his car with a ginger ale and well-wishes, apologizing that he couldn’t go with her and explaining that he was busy that night, anyway. Dan had called upon Light’s services one night because he needed someone to talk to. Suzy had heard numerous times that he was an excellent lover in the sack, actually asked the girls about their preferences, and never pushed them beyond their limitations. Sex workers are used to being raped, but Dan was always careful to ask for consent.

Drug lord or not, he was the nicest person Suzy had ever met. And even though he had loved Holly dearly, when she decided that she wanted to be with Suzy, he backed off immediately. For that alone, she was grateful.

Holly draped her arms over Suzy’s shoulders. “Whatchya thinkin about?”

“Everything.” Suzy turned to kiss Holly’s cheek. “Mostly how lucky I am to have you.”

“Mm.” Holly kissed her back. “I love you, Black Magic.”

“Love you too, Little Bird.” Suzy tied her braid and stood up, her black lace maxi dress falling off her lap and flowing to the ground. Holly pulled her satin bomber jacket over her shoulders and took Suzy’s hand. 

“Should I call Dan, tell him to send that asshole away?”

Suzy shook her head after a cursory check of the time on her phone. “He’s probably still asleep. We need to give him the space to work with the details we know about Livewire.” She squeezed Holly’s hand, leaning forward to press her lips against her girlfriend’s. Holly obliged, her lips parting with a sigh. She still smelled like him; weed and mint and a lavender-honeysuckle mixture that clung to his skin like silk. But she also smelled refreshingly like herself, like her birds and myrrh and crisp paper, ink and fabric, and that made Suzy feel better.

Holly pulled away as she heard the birds getting restless. “I’m gonna go feed my babies, okay?” She smiled, tucking a stray hair behind Suzy’s ear lovingly.

Suzy nuzzled into Holly’s wrist, nodding. “I’m gonna go scope out the asshole. You wanna try to smuggle the girls out the back?”

Holly nodded. “I’ll quick see to the birds and do that.”

“Good girl.” Suzy turned to head down the stairs, so she could get a better view of the man stationed outside the penthouse.

The kitchen was abandoned at this time of day, though she could hear the hum of the coffee pot as she entered. This was the room with the safest street view, which was important for a brothel. Suzy hopped up onto the counter and got on her knees, peering out between the thick curtains that barely allowed any sunlight through. Something smelled rotten; she’d have to talk to the girls again about cleaning up after themselves. After all, she was their Madam, not their housewife.

There was a thin man in a gray suit with baggy trousers and his suit jacket unbuttoned, shirt half untucked. He had styled blonde hair and a weasel face. He was smoking a cigar.

Suzy had never seen this man before. Well, L.A. was a big city, after all, but still. She knew most of the perverts who liked to hang around her brothel at the hopes of seeing her girls, or the teens who liked to play peeping tom at the lower windows.

He didn’t seem like he was here for either of those purposes. 

If he was a cop, he would come right in. But cops are easy; not even the law can stand against the right girl. But he reminded of the times before she’d had blackmail files on all the cops stashed away in her back office, back when they were suspicious and had watched her building like a dog waiting for handouts.

Suzy didn’t care who he was or where he was from. But he needed to get off her property. Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to archionblu who helps me out with what characters smell like cause shit, man, I have the worst nose in human history.


	8. Two Soldiers

“Mind if I smoke?” Jon asked once he and Arin were alone, shaking a half-empty pack of Marlboro Lights in his hand.

Arin, staring out the window, flapped his hand at the air listlessly. Jon happily took out his lime green lighter and placed a cigarette in his mouth.

“What did you mean “for hire”?” Arin asked without looking at his friend. “Girls for hire. What’s that mean?”

“Means you can call and they give ya a girl.” Jon mumbled, clicking the lighter, his speech muffled due to the cigarette between his front teeth. He finally got it to light and took as celebratory drag.

“Hm.” Arin chewed on his lower lip, then turned, leaning his arms on the back of his stately leather chair. “You’d think those would fall outta favor, with so much competition.”

Jon shrugged. “I’ll take a brothel I can walk to over Tinder any day.” He blew a cloud of smoke into the air above his head, crossing one leg over the other. Arin watched the smoke slowly dissipate into the ceiling.

“Do we know who runs it?” Arin asked after a moment.

“Lady called Black Magic. No real names there, either.”

“You think she has drug connections?” Arin raised an eyebrow. Girls were a great way to get to any man.

“Who knows?” Jon chuckled. “I don’t care, really. I like my girls. Don’t care if they’re drugged up or not.”

Arin wrinkled his nose. “Gross, dude.” 

Jon cackled. “It’s true! Sex workers are so easy.”

“Right.” Arin rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you were paying them to have sex with you, or anything.”

“You’re just a sore loser.” Jon smirked, dragging on his cigarette again. “You only feel that way cause you don’t like girls.”

“Pretty sure I feel that way cause I respect girls, Jon.”

“I respect girls!” 

Arin sighed. Honestly, he shouldn’t be having this conversation. He hired Jon as a contract killer, however unlikely. Not because he was a particularly good person who shared his morals.

And he liked Jon. You could like someone without agreeing with them on everything.

“Rumor has it that Mark’s into drugs now.” Jon said after a moment.

Arin stood up straighter. “What did you just say?”

“Let’s get lunch, dude. Wendy’s?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I know what I'm doing anymore?
> 
> Answer: No.


	9. Pray for Revelation

Dan was lazily sorting through some papers at his desk. Funny how illegal businesses could be run just like legitimate ones. He was presently looking through the ledger, making sure everyone had paid him on time. The few higher-ups he didn’t worry about; they’d pay him eventually, and he trusted them. The underlings, however, required an iron fist.

A knock came at his door, and Dan shifted to rest his chin on his palm. “Enter.” He called.

A flash of green attracted his tired eyes, and he sat back as Sean approached his desk. Better known as “Jack” or “Septic,” he was one of the youngest dealers in Dan’s fleet, and the youngest of his close crew. He pushed Adderall, and Dan often got his supply of the drug from him. He’d been extremely scarce lately, and Danny had started to worry about him.

Jack looked agitated, nearly vibrating with restlessness, the freshly-dyed shock of green on top of his head helped hide the gray hair cropped short on the sides. Dan sat forward, sharp eyes trying to figure out if Jack had been dipping into his own stash. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Jack?” He asked, aware of the false politeness in his tone as he slid aside the file on Livewire, a copy of official police reports.

Yet another thing he had to worry about.

Jack nervously pushed an envelope towards him. Dan took it and sliced it open with his thumb curtly, allowing himself to sit back against the chair. 

“Your cut’s late.” Dan glanced up at Jack over the stack of money. His voice may have been a bit rough, but his eyes were soft, questioning. Jack was one of his most reliable dealers, and he never missed a payment. If Jack was two weeks late, it meant there was a problem.

Jack nervously ran a hand through his fluffy hair. “Erm…I—I’m sorry, Boss, I know it’s…and before you count, I do owe ya.” Two years of living in the States had not dulled his strong Irish accent, though Jack himself would tell you that he didn’t have much of one, just a touch of the Irish burr. Either way, he sounded exotic enough for anyone to remember him.

“What happened?” Dan asked, truly concerned now. Jack seemed afraid; perhaps he had been using after all. It wasn’t Dan’s business, but Jack had never before tapped into his own supply. Now he knew something wasn’t kosher. “Jack,” he said gently. “You can tell me.”

Jack glanced at the chair in front of Dan’s desk. “Can I sit, Boss?”

“Of course.” Dan gestured, sitting up straight in his chair as Jack sat before him. 

The Irishman swung his feet like a child for a moment, hands clasped in his lap, before he took a deep breath and raised his head. “It’s about Signe.” His voice was resigned and had a distinct tone reserved for bad news. “She got into a car accident.” He smooshed his face into his palms, fingers digging into his scalp. 

“Oh my God, Jack,” Dan got up immediately and went around his desk, kneeling before his friend and putting a warm, heavy hand on his knee. “Is she all right? Can I do anything to help?”

Jack sighed shakily, letting one hand fall to clasp over Dan’s. “She’s…alive. She just woke up yesterday.” A tear fell from his lake-blue eyes onto his jeans. He still couldn’t really look at Dan, eyes trained on their touching hands. “Med bills are through the roof.”

Dan nodded in understanding. Because of the way things were in the States, there wasn’t any kind of universal healthcare. Even if they had been, Jack was an illegal, and Signe only had a green card. “That’s all right. I don’t want you to worry about paying me.” He stood up, only because his knees were starting to protest, feeling them crack under his weight. “Take the time that you need.”

Jack shot up and wrapped his arms around Dan’s slim waist. “Thank ya,” he murmured into Dan’s ribcage, shaking with unexpressed sobs. “Ah’m sorry Ah haven’t been dealin…it’s been a lot to handle.”

Danny nodded in understanding, folding his long arms around the warm body of his friend. “I understand, man. Don’t worry. If you need money, or whatever, you’ve got it.”

Jack nodded, still shaking. Though he probably should have, he couldn’t let go of the hug. Knowing that his boss was understanding meant the world to him.

Dan lay his cheek briefly against the top of Jack’s hair, then pulled back, forcing Jack to do the same. “Are you using?” He asked.

Jack rubbed his eyes, nodding. “Ah’m sorry…Ah’ve been trying to keep track…”

“Hey, man, I can’t judge,” Dan rolled his shoulders, sliding his butt up onto his desk, his ankles hooking together. “You owe me, and that’s the end of it. I’ll hardly send Brian after you with Signe in hospital.” He scoffed. “I wouldn’t do that, anyway.”

Jack gave a watery chuckle. “Thank you.”

“Be sure you have somethin to eat,” Dan told him. “I’m dependent on weed for my appetite; I don’t want you walking that same line.” He reached forward and ruffled Jack’s hair with a fond smile. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

Jack nodded. “Okay, I will. Thanks again, Boss.”

“Take care,” Dan said as Jack walked out of the office. He leaned over and made a note in his ledger next to Jack’s name. He wasn’t worried, and wouldn’t even ask to be paid back at all if the world didn’t revolve around cash.

He hated being the moneylender Jew, but life goes on.

Dan swung his long legs over the desk with some difficulty and slid back into his chair, kicking up his feet. 

It was time he dug into Livewire’s file, see what he could gleam from her death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta actually watch Markiplier's Outlast playthrough. Gosh, that was such a long time ago.
> 
> My first time writing Sean! I hope it's okay.


	10. Second Interlude

Dollface thought that escorting was the easiest job she’d ever had.

She could flaunt herself however she wanted, and work independently from Black Magic. The famed Madam gave her a room away from her constricting parents, and the drugs were almost free.

Dollface was on her way home, a fresh packet of buds in her purse, ready to light up under Madam’s roof.

He was charming, funny. He had bright eyes, a warm smile. He could do with a night at the gym, but as long as he didn’t smell like Cheetos dust, he probably wasn’t an asshole dreaming of buttfucking a My Little Pony.

She was an escort, she wore the badge proudly. He wanted a date for the night, show his D&D buds he could get a girl. 

“Can I light up?”

“Sure.”

He offered her his arm. Cute.

He promised they were almost there. Damn her heels, giving her blisters. When she had to stop, he pulled her out of the streetlamps, tried to kiss her.

“I’m not a sex worker, for Christ’s sake! Let go of me!”

He covered her mouth and she bit down, hard. Her knee to the groin move missed.

Okay, okay, if it was only rape, that was fine. She remembered what he looked like, at least, and she could call the Madam.

God, he couldn’t even rape her right! In hysterics, she started laughing.

The last thing she remembered was a pain to her head. Then, there was only darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ḥ̬̅̋e̠̥ͯ̂ͧ̊ͨͦ͐ ̯͔̆͆̂͆̑ͦī̺̣͖͕̟̽̒̓ͩ̔̾s̻̙̼̜͑̔̅̓̐ͫ ̘͍̪̲̗ͫ̽̓͒c̬̥̳̰̗̉͊̈́ͥ̈ͨo̪̿͊͑̎̔ͪͨ͌m̲̰̟̫̘̼̝͐ͭ̊ͧ̐ͣͫḯ͚̟̮̟̅̏ǹ̯͚̭̜̫̭͔̇ͤ̔̆̋ͥ͗ͪͅġ̱̞͔̼̣̣͋


	11. Rats in the Cage

“So,” Arin was munching on his deluxe burger, fries splayed across the greasy wrapping. “What makes you think Mark’s into drugs?”

Jon slurped noisily at his chocolate frosty. “Oh, come on, Arin! No one is that productive!”

Arin snorted. “Listen, man, if you’re just jealous because he can actually work a 9-5 shift…”

“I’m tellin ya,” Jon reached across the table and stole a fry from Arin, “he works in the drugs district—”

“Keep your voice down!” Arin growled.

Jon leaned in closer, gesticulating as he spoke. “He’s on surveillance in the drugs district, man! He knows his way around ‘em!”

“That is generally what I want from my man on drugs surveillance,” Arin deadpanned, raising an eyebrow. “He knows a bit about the prescriptions scene—his dad needed all kinds of meds when he was sick.”

“Didn’t help him, as I heard it.” Jon stole another fry.

“Would you—!” Arin angrily dragged his food out of reach. “The point is, I don’t give a shit if he is buying. I only care that he’s doing his job.”

“Really?” Jon smirked.

“Yes.” Arin answered with finality, shoving the rest of the burger into his mouth and muffling a belch.

Jon elegantly dipped his chicken nugget into the barbeque sauce packet nearby. “So, is he doing his job well, if he knows a dealer?” He paused to take a bite, watching out of the corner of his eye as the realization dawned on his friend’s face. “A dealer in L.A.? A dealer who, unless he’s independent, is definitely working for…”

“…big man upstairs.” Arin sat there, stunned, before bringing his fist down on the table. Several people turned and looked. “MOTHERFUCKER!” Arin shouted, rising out of his seat. “Goddamn little snake thinks he can double-cross ME! Hahaha, ol’ ARIN HANSON, big fat dummy!”

Jon looked around nervously, guiding Arin out of the restaurant with a hand clasped formly around his bicep. “Dude, keep your fuckin voice down! You want the cops crawling all over this Wendy’s?”

“I don’t give a fucking rat’s ass about the fucking PIGS!” Arin roared, stomping over to his blacked-out rose gold limo. “FUCK THE PIGS!” He opened the door and slammed it behind him, sinking into the magenta memory foam. 

Jon hastened to get into the other side of the car and flapped his hand aimlessly at the driver. Noticing Arin was still fuming, he curled into himself, half scared shitless, half morbidly interested.

A part of him really loved seeing Arin get riled up. The semi-auto pistol he kept on his belt loop at all times was a welcome weight at times like these. Jon knew Arin could be impulsive when he was angry, and most of Arin’s assignments for him happened while he was raging.

Arin clenched and unclenched his fist, glaring out the window as the limo drove away. “Jon,” he snarled, “I want Markiplier.” His dark brown eyes turned to Jon, cold as ice. “Bring him to me. Alive.”

Jon’s smile would not be out of place on a Disney villain. “You got it, Grumpman.”


	12. Veil

“Rumor has it there’s a new gang on the west side.”

Dan woke with a start, nearly falling off of his bed. Heart beating a million miles an hour, he glared at Brian. “You motherfucker. You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Brian smirked, pushing off the wall. Today, he had on a black button down with the top two buttons undone, matching slacks, and a pair of what Dan thought were Doc Martens. “Aww, now why would I do that?”

Danny flopped back amongst his pillows, one arm slapped across his eyes. “So you can take over my empire which has been your secret dream since we met,” he grumbled.

Brian cackled. “Heh. Good one.” He opened up the blinds, making Dan hiss as bright afternoon sunlight flooded into the room.

“Fuck,” Dan rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

Brian checked his watch, resting his weight on the bed. “1:30.”

“Oh.” Dan yawned, rolling over again to stretch generously until his back cracked pleasantly. “You were off with Audrey, right? Did you have a good time?”

Brian nodded. “Yes. We went to the zoo.” He watched as his boss slid out of bed, silk sheets clinging to his mostly-naked form, eyes trailing over the younger man’s prominent shoulder blades, his rounded hips, his cute little ass. He had to admit that, even though he was a happily married man, the drug lord was rather attractive.

Danny slipped into one of his favorite kimonos, a light blue number with pink cherry blossoms decorating the surface. He absently tied it closed around his waist, leaving it open just enough that his chest was peeking out. “Good. That’s good.” He yawned again, stretching his arms up over his head and lifting up onto his tiptoes. “I love the zoo. I should go sometime.”

Brian smiled sadly. The drug lord rarely took time for himself, spending his life here at the mansion or at their offices downtown. Dan was a workaholic, and while that meant drugs ran smoothly in L.A., what it meant for the younger man’s personal life, it was difficult to say. Surely he hadn’t seen his family in years.

The body guard stood up, stretching the laziness out of his bones. The aura in the bedroom was relaxed, and the elegant blue bong on the end table spoke of a restful night for the prince. Brian was also pleased to see remnants of Japanese takeaway; good, at least Danny was eating.

He traipsed to the en-suite bathroom where Dan was just finished brushing his teeth. He still looked slightly high, eyes hazy and dull. It was probably a remnant of last night’s fun. Brian stepped inside, leaning leisurely on the countertop as Dan grabbed his shaving cream and lathered up his face. The older man watched as Dan rinsed the razor under the faucet and began to shave.

Dan snorted. “This interesting, huh? You gonna watch me take a leak, too?”

Brian snorted in return. “Pass. I do have news to report.”

“Go on.”

“Deep Blue and Aquamarine tell me that there’s been another body.”

“Connected?” Dan asked, somewhat sorrowfully. “Does Suzy know?”

Brian shrugged. “I gather it was she who told Deep Blue, but I don’t know for certain.”

Dan tilted his head as he shaved. Deep Blue and Aquamarine were a detective team that fed him information. They were a gift from Suzy for his 36th birthday. “It’s likely.” He finished shaving and rinsed off. “What did you say before?”

“I don’t know for certain?” Brian parroted.

Dan lightly shoved Brian as he passed. “No, smartass. When you woke me up.”

“Oh, yeah, there’s rumors circulating about a new gang in the west. The head’s got all the police under their boots, apparently. Drives around in a rose gold limo.”

Danny’s breath hissed out through his teeth. “Shitake mushrooms.”

“You’re tellin me. Holly told me that there was a stranger snoopin round the brothel, says that he might be on surveillance.” 

“When did you see Holly?” Dan slipped out of the kimono and pulled on some gray skinny jeans, which he called “booty chokers.” Though, these had clearly been bought when he was ten pounds heavier, so they didn’t really qualify. 

“Ran into her after I dropped off Audrey. She passed on the information from Aquamarine and Deep Blue.”

“That means the police questioned her, like as not.” Dan ran a hand through his mane of matted curls. “Fuck.”

“She can handle herself, Danny. Plus, she and Suzy have the police lapping at their feet.” Brian pointed out.

“Yeah. I’m not worried.” Dan slipped into his leather jacket, giving himself a once-over. Thrifted tee shirt, gray jeans, leather jacket, tennis shoes. Yep, this was as good as it got. “I just don’t want the police poking at my drug ring. I don’t really need to be indebted to the Madam.”

Brian chuckled. “Amen to that.” He opened the door for Dan and followed him out to the car.

“I’m fuckin starvin, Bri. Can we stop and get pancakes?”

“Your wish is my command, my lord.”

Danny flipped him the bird with an exasperated groan.


	13. Caught Up

Mark had never meant to get addicted. It had sort of happened by accident.

He’d been trying to get close to the drug lord, trying to find out who he was. The dealers never talked outright, but Mark could smell fear a mile away. Really, that was to be expected. His boss, Arin, a kind and generous man himself, had to play the part of a tyrant to get his lackeys to stay in line. Fear told him nothing about the mysterious drug lord, ruler of the east side.

Really, he decided, it was his fault in the end.

Too tired to keep working but not tired enough to go back to his boss without any information, he had walked into a bar.

Drug pushers are very good at what they do.

~

“Oi, man, you look exhausted.” 

Mark lifted his head off of his folded arms, his hand pawing aimlessly at the cool mug of beer sitting on the bar. He turned his heavy head towards the voice, and was met with a green head of hair.

The man with the foreign accent—was it Scottish? Irish, perhaps?— was leaning casually against the bar, inches away from him, his eyes staring off into the room beyond. He was dressed casually—white tee shirt with a cranberry colored sweatshirt and a pair of baggy dark-wash jeans, and he had his hands deep in the pockets of his half-zipped sweatshirt. The picture of cool. His compact body was lean and toned, and Mark cursed himself for being possibly a lot more gay than his bisexual label would suggest.

He knocked back a long swig of his beer, possibly for courage, maybe to make him look cool, and swiveled towards him on the bar stool. “I’ve just had a long day at the office, that’s all.” Mark ran a hand through his dyed red hair. He liked the way that it mixed well with the deep black color of his natural hair. It made him stand out amongst the gang members, and made it slightly difficult to blend in during surveillance, but he didn’t care. He’d always been confident he could fight his way out of any situation out there.

The other man tilted his head towards him without turning fully to face Mark, a sly grin creeping onto his lips. “Alcohol’s no good at a pick-me-up.” He winked, tossing his head proudly. “I can give you something stronger.”

Mark frowned. He knew a hopeful pusher when he saw one. Years ago, before his dad died, his condition had been very painful. With their mother unable to work due to her agoraphobia and the family unable to afford the medications he needed, Mark and his brother took to the streets between jobs, looking for the drugs their father needed to keep sane.

Even if it had all been for naught in the end, Mark had learned about drug dealers and the underworld they operated in. He wasn’t going to be pulled in so easily.

Why, then, was it so easy to say: “Yes.”

The foreigner looked around the bar to see if anyone was watching before tilting his head, beckoning Mark to follow. Mark slipped off the bar stool, leaving payment for the bartender, before following the path the other man had taken.

Green Hair was waiting for him in the alley between the bar and the laundromat next door. He was leaning against the wall, bracing himself with one foot, arms crossed, looking smug. Mark’s heart beat faster; damn him.

Green Hair’s eyes lit up when he saw Mark and pushed himself off the wall. “If you want a good, productive night, you need this.” He reached into his pocket and bugged out a little plastic bag with seven orange pills inside. 

“What is it?” Mark asked. He knew most drugs, prescription and hard, by sight, but he’d never seen this one.

“It’s Adderall.” The dealer replied with a grin. “Easy to take, and it gets big results. You want a week’s supply or a month’s supply?”

~

Mark supposed he could easily blame the fact that his dealer, Septic, was just too darn cute. 

Yeah, sure, Mark, go ahead and blame the fact that you’re a flaming homosexual. It’s not because you’re a workaholic with an addictive personality.

The red-haired gangster checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes. He was about to give up on Septic, try to look around for other local dealers, but his patience was rewarded.

There was Septic, dressed in a black sweatshirt, his usual jeans, white trainers, and a black tee shirt with a giant green eyeball monster on the front. As he came closer to Mark, fishing in his jeans pocket for Mark’s usual supply, the gangster realized that his dealer looked exhausted.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Mark asked, even as he passed Septic the envelope and received his pills in return.

Septic nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry I’m late. Had a run-in with the Boss.”

Mark’s ears pricked up at that. In all the time he’d known Septic, he thought the dealer was a solo act. Knowing that Septic was likely under the drug lord’s influence was useful information indeed. He might be able to return to Arin with something to show for all his surveillance after all.

But he decided to play dumb. For now. “Bossman, huh? I know what that’s like.”

To his surprise, Septic seemed completely neutral about the big bad lord. Every bit of research he’d found up to now had told him that the man upstairs was a man to be feared. Was he wrong? “Ain’t so bad,” Septic went on, detouring Mark’s train of thought. “What about you, man?”

“Eh, same old,” Mark deflected. He wanted to know more. “So…do you work for the Big Bad?”

Septic raised an eyebrow. “The who-whats?”

“The Big Bad!” Mark clarified. “Y’know…gilded gates and gold tower! Mr. King-of-the-East himself!”

Septic’s expression turned curiously mask-like. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

“Oh, come on,” Mark persisted. “He’s talk of the town! Mister Bigshot drug lord!” In truth, Mark had heard nothing opulent about the drug lord. He could only assume that a confident crime boss, due to Arin’s behavior, would act as such. “He must have a fuckin bulletproof limo made of gold!”

Septic’s expression changed from false to a hint of anger. “You better get outta the east side, man.”

“Come on,” Mark rolled his eyes. “I’m just curious, is all.”

“Curious like a fuckin nark.” Septic backed up, his hand straying to his back pocket.

“Whoa!” Mark reached for the handgun on his hip. If Septic was looking for a fight, then he’d sure as hell get one. 

But by the time he’d looked up again, Septic was gone.

Jack watched the retreating back of his most loyal customer from the base of the fire escape, a sick feeling swirling in his tummy. What if M was an undercover cop, looking to nail Boss Sexbang?

Jack reached into his pocket and dialed the secure number as he walked carefully back up the road towards the hideout. “Rubber, this is Septic. I need to talk to Sexbang right away.” He turned the envelope over between his fingers, wondering what kind of money was inside. “It’s important.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! What happens next?


	14. I Can Look Ahead

Ross reached behind him, the phone held carefully in his palm. “Yo, Boss! Septic’s on the line. Says it’s important.”

Dan took the blunt from his lips, letting out the smoke with a sigh. He was only mildly high, not enough for it to impair his judgment in any way. He was just trying to smoke up an appetite to join Ross and Brian in chowing down on the delectable Chinese food from that new place down the block. “Yo, talk to me, baby,” he drawled, the peaceful feeling of being high washing over him as he let it. 

Since Jack wasn’t a lackey, he could afford to be himself.

“Sorry to interrupt your high, Boss, but I need to speak to you.”

Danny giggled. “Say it to my ears, baby boy.”

“No, like…in person. Please? It’s urgent.”

Dan sat up, nudging at Ross, mouth at him to get his emergency CBD. Ross nodded, rising from the foot of the bed. Fighting the haze in his brain, Dan bit his bottom lip hard to focus. “Sure, of course. Text your location and I’ll send a car.” As Ross returned to his side with the CBD oil in hand, Dan shook it vigorously, watching Brian stand up in preparation to call them a car as well. 

“I will. Septic out.”

Dan gave the phone back to Ross, placing three drops of oil under his tongue and letting it sit in place. 

“What was that about?” Ross asked. Dan shrugged, grabbing his jacket and slipping it on over his shoulders. Both followed Brian out to the car.

Danny sighed. Tonight was a night for Adderall, it seemed.

Meanwhile, Jack slipped the phone back into his pocket. When a dark blue car with blacked out windows pulled up to the curb, he obediently got in, settling back into the leather interior and trying to relax. 

He wouldn’t fault his boss if Danny happened to be angry with him. After all, he’d be angry, too, if his dinner had been interrupted long after business hours. But this was too important to leave hanging.

What Jack didn’t notice, however, was that he had a tail.

Sitting in a taxi, Mark watched the exchange, and then ordered the driver to follow behind at a safe distance.

If Septic knew anything about the Big Bad, his prey, then he wasn’t about to let his lead get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No food for the wicked! ^-^' Poor Dan.
> 
> What's up with Mark, though? Huehuehue, we shall see... ;3


	15. This is Your Sacrifice

Dan paced back and forth in front of his desk, the warmth of the setting sun at his back casting an orange glow on the room. Jack was seated in the same chair he’d sat in just days before, watching the drug lord like a startled deer. Ross was relaxing on the navy loveseat in the room, blowing bubbles with his chewing gum while he fooled around on his phone. Brian stayed by the door, cold eyes surveying the scene.

“Ah know Ah interrupted your dinner, Boss, but Ah thought yeh should know…” Jack began, biting his lip nervously.

Dan ran a hand through his hair, letting his head tilt back to follow its path, breathing deeply into his stomach as he stopped pacing. The Adderall in his system was helping to quell his appetite, not to mention that work was more important than food. Even so, he couldn’t help mourning his abandoned Chinese food. “Jack, stop that. You don’t have to act like the lackeys. I’m not going to fly off the handle.”

Ross giggled. “You do that on purpose! It’s funny to see the way they cower in fear when they talk about you!”

“Hush,” Brian said, shifting his weight against the door.

Jack nodded. “Well, Ah guess it all started when Ah was pushing full time. Met this guy, M, in a bar, did my usual spiel, and he got hooked. Ah haven’t had many regulars, so it was nice to get a steady income, y’know?”

Dan slid up onto his desk, kicking his feet. “And?”

“Ah met up with ‘im today, like usual. Hand over the goods, get the dough. Ah offhandedly mentioned that yeh held me up…well, Ah just said “Boss” and he seemed real curious. Started askin me questions about “the king of the east side,” shit like that.”

Brian snorted. “King of the East Side indeed.”

Dan briefly glared at Brian before tossing his curls behind his shoulder. He’d ran out without his leather jacket, and the office was cold; he was nearly shivering in his long sleeved tee. “That is worrying, though I suppose anyone would be curious, since you mentioned me.” He hardened his eyes briefly at Jack. 

Jack took the hint and bowed his head. “Sorry, Boss.”

“No matter.” Dan grabbed one leg and pulled it up towards him, doing the same with the other until his legs made a pretzel. “We have to deal with it now.”

“That train has sailed,” agreed Ross.

Jack looked up from his knees and noticed Dan was shivering. “You okay, Boss?”

“Just cold,” Dan replied dismissively. “It’s a bit chilly in here at night, and I left my jacket at the house.”

“Here.” Brian removed his sweatshirt and tossed it towards the front of the room. Jack caught it and wordlessly handed it to Danny. The lean man slipped into the sweatshirt; because of their differences in weight, the sweatshirt happened to fit Dan perfectly. It was even a little baggy on his form.

“Thanks, Bri.” Danny snuggled into the warmth left on the sweatshirt by Brian’s body heat. He looked at Jack. “Have you heard anything about the gang downtown? The boss of the west side?”

Jack shook his head. “They’d wanna know about us, too, I reckon.”

Dan was about to speak when Brian lifted his hand up. The room grew tense and silent.

“I heard something outside.” Brian explained, opening the door swiftly and darting through the opening. Danny slid off the desk and casually tightened his belt as the sounds of a scuffle could be heard from behind the door. Jack and Ross stood to flank Dan on either side. It all looked quite theatrical when Brian returned, throwing a man with a shock of red hair face down into the carpet.

“Well, well, well,” Dan approached the man, his eyes watching Brian’s movements. “What do we have here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news for Markimoo...we've all seen Danny and Brian at their worst by now.
> 
> Also, no one's reading this, I guess, but the muse is with me, so...here goes.


	16. The Hunter

Jon shifted his weight for the hundredth time, unable to lie in a way that was comfortable for his ribs. Possibly the worst part about being a hired gun was the waiting game.

The late afternoon Californian sun beat down on his back, absorbed by his black shirt, making his sweat. He took off his cap and wiped the back of his arm against his forehead, groaning. His stomach rumbled, which really compounded the problem.

But he had his prey in his sights. Armed with blow-darts filled with tranquilizer, because Arin wanted Mark alive for some reason, he kept his eagle eye on the shock of red hair in the street below.

Mark was leaning against a lamp post, checking his watch and looking agitated. There was no one around to see. 

Jon lined up the shot and was about to heave out a big puff of air through the dart gun when a flash of green attracted his attention. The podgy man drew back, resting his weight on his elbows, and looked through the sniper scope on the dart gun.

Mark greeted the green-haired man, who looked to be about his age, cheerfully, and handed him an envelope in exchange for a black bag. Drugs. Jon didn’t know a whole lot about the world of drug dealing, pushing, and addiction, but he’d seen enough through his years with Arin to know shady business when he saw it.

Jon couldn’t hear anything that was going on down below, but the air between the two men in his sights tensed immediately. Something was going wrong, and the assassin turned his gun towards the stranger, fearing that Mark’s life may be in danger. But no, they parted in simple anger, and the green-haired stranger took out a phone.

The man on the rooftop adjusted his cap, narrowing his eyes as he prepared—yet again—to take a shot at his original target. But Mark, being an excellent tracking dog, hailed a cab, ordering it to pull around the block and wait. Jon only knew, because he followed the cab’s path. 

Mark was rewarded when a blue, unmarked car pulled up at the curb and the green-haired man slid into the back seat. Jon followed the cab following the blue car with his eyes before rising up out of his crouch. His ribs, stomach, and back hurt from lying in the same position for hours, and he stretched languidly. He thought he might have an idea where the two were headed.

If he was right, it would net him the location of their mysterious drug lord. If he was wrong, he could kill two birds with one stone. Not only would he be able to track down Mark for questioning, he could bring Mr. Green Hair to Grumpman for questioning.

Tingling with excitement, Jon strolled over to the fire escape, whistling a happy tune as he descended. 

This was too perfect. Rarely did things go so well for him.

It took a minute to call a cab, but Jon was a patient man. He was confident that he knew where his prey was headed, anyway, so it likely didn’t matter how long a fucking cab took to pick him up.

Once Jon had secured a ride, he leaned back in the cloth seat and confidently rattled off a street name close to the area his prey had been headed towards. And what luck that there was an In-And-Out Burger on the way there. He really was taking care of business.

~

Jon munched on his burger as he looked out the windows of the cab. The sun was getting lower in the sky, but it was still in the midst of setting, and a bright orange glow still took up the sky, the shadows of the taller buildings creeping long like fingers across the city below. Not many people out now at all. Good citizens were home in bed; now was the witching hour, the prime time for crime, when the police turned their backs and the streets flooded with ne’er-do-wells. 

“Stop the car,” Jon ordered, his voice muffled by his burger. He reached into his back pocket to pay the cabbie and got out, lugging his black messenger bag that hid all his essentials for the dart gun he was concealing. He slid his hand over the cab as it passed on its way and then smiled, patting his messenger bag like one would pet a faithful canine friend.

He’d made the cabbie stop because he’d seen the unmarked blue car parked recklessly on the street. It wasn’t an uncommon practice if the law of the land turned a blind eye to your antics. Arin did the same, after all.

On the side of the road Jon was standing on was a high apartment building that would undoubtedly provide him with an excellent vantage point of whatever was going on inside the building directly opposite. The assassin found his way to a fire escape and made his way to the rooftops.

Once there, Jon set up shop, taking his time setting up his gun, getting it blocked and loaded, adjusting the sniper scope, and carefully lying on his stomach so he could watch the proceedings.

There was a large glass window, slightly obscured by thick gray curtains. Jon could make out a chair and a desk and…

A bushy head of dark curls. 

Curly was pacing back and forth, and Jon could just catch sight of Mr. Green Hair, but could see no one else in the room. Who was Curly? He could easily be another dealer; his clothes looked worn in, baggy on him. He was very thin, but even so seemed built like a runner. 

Could this be the boss of the east side?

Jon didn’t want to believe that just yet.

Presently, there was an unseen commotion in the room. Mr. Green Hair and another man who looked to be spitting out gum came to flank Curly. That…that was a common move; protect the boss.

Well, there was no denying it now.

Jon looked into the room and saw a flash of red hair. Hmph. That was all he needed to know. Mark was a goner. Oh well.

Jon clamored down the fire escape, bursting at the seams with glee.

He’d found the drug boss! He couldn’t wait to see the look on Grumpman’s face!


	17. Third Interlude

Hail took this job on her own. She’d done it before, going out without telling the Madam, because who cared, honestly? As long as Black Magic got her cut, she couldn’t control where her girls went or when.

Hail liked that sort of independence.

White-blonde hair braided up like that Disney princess Elsa, she walked confidently up to the apartment, subtly adjusting her low-cut blouse and push-up bra before pressing the buzzer of the apartment number.

Once he let her up, things went as usual. The apartment was messy and smelled…

Well, it smelled like bird. She only knew that smell because Black Magic’s girlfriend, Little Bird, kept pigeons in her loft and she always smelled like them. Besides, Hail and Little Bird were friends, and Hail would often spend time with the birds on slow summer evenings when the rest of the barely-air conditioned penthouse was too hot for her liking. 

Being a Jersey girl, she had never taken a liking to the dry heat of California’s summers.

“Do you have a bird?” She asked, sipping her tea. Funny. She didn’t remember that her teabag said this was almond tea.

“Heh. Yeah.” He chuckled, sipping his energy drink. 

“What kind?” She yawned. She was starting to feel…strange.

“A parrot. Do you like birds?”

“…yes.”

“Come on, Hail. Time to go to sleep.”


	18. You Just Stay Out

“Let me go, you fuckers!” Mark struggled against the bonds. He was strapped to a medical examination table positioned upright. The lights from the makeshift med bay were starting to give him a headache, and he was getting lightheaded due to a lack of food. The buzz of the fluorescent bulbs were loud in his ears.

“Hmmm…I don’t think so.” The drug lord purred, tucking his curls behind his ear, the sleeves of his sweatshirt intermingling with his fingers. “I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in.” He was leaning casually against the outer wall of what had been a bathroom stall. 

The man who had grabbed Mark came near, and Mark spat at him.

“Go ahead. Kill me.” He snapped. “You’ll never find out the information you want!”

“Oh, you are far too interesting to kill.” The boss made a show of looking at his nails. “I’d lose one of my loyal customers, after all.”

Mark growled. He didn’t understand this strange drug lord. He sent his accomplices home or, more likely, out to deal, and ordered this other man, Ninja, to take him to this…this strange doctor’s office. All around, he could see bandages, saline solution, needles…everything you might find in a surgery. He had never seen so much of his boss’s hideout, just the areas he was permitted to enter. 

“If you don’t want to kill me, what will you do?” He snarled.

The drug lord raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Ninja produced a knife and slashed at Mark’s starched shirt, tearing it neatly from shoulder to elbow. With a nod from the boss, he did the same on the other side. Mark realized what they were doing.

Gang marks.

Mark tried to thrash again, bearing his teeth and trying to bite at the Ninja. The man, though he didn’t look like much, was quick of reflex, and managed to forcibly pin Mark’s shoulders down, one arm pressed up against his neck to limit breathing.

He was trapped. He had no choice.

The drug lord approached. As he came near, Mark recognized the signs of a fellow user; sallow complexion, dark circles under his eyes, a false brightness swirling in the mocha brown centers. Cold fingers brushed through the slits of the torn sleeves, and the drug lord let out an interest hum as he found the gang sign.

“What is it?” Ninja asked. 

The boss took a phone from his pocket and took a picture, then stood up. He looked weary, his form trembling. Or was that simply Mark’s own weakness?

The boss crossed the room and reached into one of the drawers. When he returned, he was holding a tiny white packet.

“I’m not going to let you drug me, sickos!” Mark growled, bucking to try and get Ninja’s weight off him. But the other man’s muscles pulsated in his arms; he was much stronger than he looked, and his cold blue eyes held little humanity under the blinding white light above.

“It’s just sugar.” The boss opened the packet and stuck a finger inside, licking the white substance with his tongue. “See? Nothing to worry about. He looked at Ninja, who with one hand came up to squeeze around Mark’s jaw, forcing it open. The drug lord then poured the packet into Mark’s mouth.

It was indeed sugar.

“Let him go.” The boss said wearily.

Ninja whipped his head around in shock. “Sexbang, he knows where to find us.”

Sexbang glared. “Don’t question me, Ninja. Take him far away from here.”

Ninja reared back and punched the side of Mark’s head, rendering him unconscious, and grabbed a blindfold from his back pocket.

“He will find us,” Brian reminded Dan as he handed the gang member to one of the janitors waiting nearby, giving quick and simple instructions. “He knows this address thanks to Septic.”

“Jack is not to blame,” Dan replied, shivering and cowering in the sweatshirt. Though he couldn’t sweat due to a strange genetic anomaly, his head felt strangely overheated. “We’ve moved house before. We can do it again. We…” His eyelids fluttered, and Brian was just in time to catch him.

Brian assessed Dan quickly. He was flushed down to his neck, forehead glistening with unrealized sweat, eyes barely focused, shivering like mad. “Danny, you have a fever.”

Dan rolled his head into the crook of Brian’s arm, murmuring incoherently, and Brian wondered how long he had known he was getting sick.

The older man scooped Danny up into his arms and carried him out of the building. He would have to give special instructions not to return to the hideout tonight. 

He knew the gang would be watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Danny!! o.O


	19. I Don't Like Them Innocent

Intrusive thoughts were bothering Mark. 

And it wasn’t the usual intrusive thoughts about his lack of worth as a human person, or how a knife against his skin would solve all of his problems, no. It was the thought that the drug lord might not be so bad.

He knew next to nothing, but at least he had a name. 

Sexbang. Boss Sexbang, King of the East Side. 

It had to be a codename, cause no one’s actual name could be that ridiculous.

Mark groaned, rubbing the sore spot on his head. He’d been walking (well, more like stumbling) along, looking more or less like he was drunk. His suit jacket was gone, one sleeve of his white button-down shirt ripped off, displaying his gang mark quite clearly; a tattoo of a sakura tree with pink flowers, Bossman’s mark.

The taste of sugar was still rich on his tongue. That Boss Sexbang had noticed he was suffering from hypoglycemia while presumably about to torture him was…dare he say…kind?

Whoever heard of a friendly drug lord?

Mark slumped against the wall of a deli, safely on the west side. He’d been dumped somewhere along where the border between east and west lay, and he didn’t really know where he was, except that the few street signs he saw were familiar to him.

Part of him wanted to get home and take a shower. Most of him wanted to get to Arin and tell him everything he knew. He was a part of Arin’s gang, after all. Arin had taken him in when he moved, broken and alone, to L.A. from Cincinnati. Though he was only a few years older than Mark, Arin had become like a father figure to him, mentoring him along and making him one of his most trusted gang members.

He couldn’t turn away from all that just because he felt sympathy for his gang’s rival and had a crush on his dealer…right?

Just as Mark was about to get going again, a rose gold limousine pulled up against the curb and the blacked-out window in the back seat rolled down, revealing Arin Hanson himself. Arin had on a white checkered business suit, complete with matching fedora, smoking a cigar, which he tended to do on those occasions when he was either stressed or wanted to look the part of a gang leader.

“Boss!” Mark’s eyes widened in surprise. 

Arin inhaled against the cigar and held the smoke in his lungs for a moment as he drew the cigar away from his lips to tap out the ashes against the side of his car. He finally exhaled as he turned to look at Mark under the rim of the fedora with his dark eyes. He looked amused, which was honestly a good sign.

“Come on, Mark,” he said smoothly, his voice tight but not entirely unkind. “Get in. You look a wreck.”

“Thanks, Boss,” Mark limped over to the limo and collapsed into it, breathing heavily as he pulled himself to sitting. He was tired, aching, and hungry, his head pounding. The car smelled of Wendy’s burgers, one of the boss’s favorite meals, and it made the younger man’s stomach growl with want.

“I hear you might have some information for me.” Arin, now sitting across from Mark, took a drag and let out the smoke to the left of him. An ember fell from the burning end of the cigar to the floor of the car.

“Yes,” Mark replied, sighing as he leaned back in the car. “Arin, I…I’m seriously banged up.”

“I can see that.” Arin’s voice remained cool and calm. “Do you think you need a hospital visit?”

“I could really use some Advil. And some food.” Mark shifted uncomfortably as his stomach growled loudly.

“Sure, of course.” Arin replied. “But first, I need a name.”

“Sexbang,” Mark mumbled, drifting slowly into unconsciousness.

“Sexbang,” Arin repeated to himself, smoking in contemplation. He wrapped his knuckles on the screen separating the back seat from the front and directed the driver to Mark’s address. All the while, he thought of the information he now had, thanks to Mark and Jon.

A lanky, curly-haired drug addict. 

Boss Sexbang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't mean to imply Mark has or had depression, so...don't hate me, please?
> 
> Also, a lot of these pairings are meant as like...super platonic, or to imply history. Just in case anyone is looking for septibang. -_-''


	20. Hey, Baby, It's the Apocalypse

When Brian saw Dan step out of the car, still wrapped up in his sweatshirt and shivering inside a white crochet blanket slung across his shoulders, he rolled his eyes. Luckily, there weren’t many of his dealers around, for he’d surely lose the loyalty of his underlings, and any higher-ups who saw him like this would surely laugh at him.

“What are you doing here?’ Brian hissed.

“I had to come and see the new place,” Dan replied, somewhat defensively. “Can’t take a day off just ‘cause of a little cold. I’m the boss after all.”

“Except it wasn’t ‘just a cold’,” Brian rolled his eyes, grabbing him by the bicep and pulling him inside the building before anyone saw. “You had a fever of 102. How you weren’t already faltering, I can’t imagine.”

Dan shrugged. “I didn’t feel sick while I was high.”

“Must’ve been that, then.” Brian sighed. They were now inside the abandoned warehouse. The building was cold, even if California’s winters were milder than most, and it smelled heavily of damp. Brian had been overseeing work on repairing windows and the faulty electricity so a heating and air conditioning system could be put in. The janitors had been cleaning up the place in the few days that Dan had actually decided to stay in bed, but it was still dusty and dirty. 

There were a few working right now, but after a glare from Brian, they ignored the fact that their boss was currently trying to shrink into a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

Dan shivered violently, seeming to rattle all of his bones like a Jacob’s ladder toy before they settled back into place. He looked pale and fiercely ill, his color high, forehead dewy. Fevers were particularly bad news since his sweat glands didn’t quite work properly, forcing all the heat to stay inside. 

Brian sighed. “Go home, Danny. You need to rest so you can get better. I guarantee the reason you got sick in the first place is that you’ve been eating pretty regularly, and the moment your body wasn’t in fight-or-flight mode, it broke down.”

“So, what you’re saying is, I should eat less?” One of Dan’s thin hands snaked out of his blanket shawl to tug at the worn Giants beanie he sported on his head, pulling it firmly over his ears.

“No, you should eat three times a day like a normal person.”

Dan turned slightly green, then his eyes glazed over and drifted out to distant memory. “I don’t think I’ve actually eaten that way since I was in college.”

“Not an achievement to be proud of,” Brian scolded.

Dan scoffed. “Your dad is showing.”

“Honestly, I think you could use one sometimes.”

Danny curled his shoulders into himself, fingers fisting into the blanket, his eyes trained on a dead cockroach belly-up on the floor six inches away. “Fuck off,” he mumbled.

The older man sighed, reaching up to touch Dan’s shoulder. He knew the whole “father figure” thing was a sore spot for his boss. The “Deadly A,” patriarch Avidan, had been an Israeli criminal of some note before immigrating to America to escape prosecution for war crimes. His lack of interest in what he referred to as “petty crime” had led to tension between father and son, forcing Dan’s relocation to Los Angeles.

That was what Brian had been told…but he was sure it went deeper than a simple disagreement.

“Go home, boss,” Brian tried again, his voice gentle but firm. “The sooner you get some rest, the sooner you can come back to work.” 

Danny tipped sideways, turned to lean heavily on Brian, his forehead against the older man’s broad shoulder. “Okay,” he mumbled. “Can you tell Jack to come by with more Adderall? I’m running low.”

Brian wrapped his arms around the lanky man without hesitation. “Only if you promise not to take any until your fever goes down. You don’t sleep or eat much as it is, and the last thing you need is an even weaker body than what you started with.”

Dan nodded. “Deal.” He yawned.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” Brian said fondly. “I’ll take you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from a Dan quote from BOTW XD That series is truly a gift. Thank you, boys.
> 
> We got a little taste of Dan's history here. We may get more in the future, so stay tuned! ^-^


	21. Princess

“Danny? Hey, Danny!”

Dan stirred. His head felt heavy, his body weighted down with the heaviness of exhausted sleep. He didn’t want to wake up. He still felt so tired, his body taking turns being freezing cold and warm as a furnace.

“Danny, wake up!” It was the gentle pressure of a feminine hand and the resonance of a familiar voice that pulled Dan back into the waking world. The drug lord rolled over onto his back, noticing that the gossamer canopy surrounding his bed had been pulled back, revealing Suzy Berhow in all her glory.

Suzy was dressed in a beautiful black skater dress with a slimming bodice and leggings patterned with a snakeskin pattern. She was protected from the cold by a black leather jacket with matching fur collar and navy blue gloves to match the navy velvet boots that stopped just below her knees. Her pitch-black hair, complete with blonde streak, fell carelessly about her shoulders in loose curls, and in dark red lipstick, she looked as beautiful and dangerous as always. Her hands held a pale pink leash, which ended at a…

“What’s a dog doing here?” Dan mumbled, his brain still muddled from sleep and the fever. He rubbed his eyes as he gingerly propped himself up on his elbows. His whole body thrummed with heavy fatigue, and it was difficult to hold his head high. 

“Nice to see you, too,” Suzy giggled musically. “I thought it was about time you had a guard dog.”

The dog looked mostly like a pitbull, with a large head and overall muscular build, but she had hints of more slender dogs to her. Her face shape seemed narrower than other pits Dan remembered seeing in dog fighting rings (he had always found those particularly cruel), and her build was certainly more delicate than the low, portly build of your average pitbull. She was gray and white, with a white star on her chest, white feet, and a white underbelly. She stood with such dignity beside Suzy, her tail wagging slowly back and forth in interest.

“I thought you were more of a cat person,” Dan smiled, a bit dopily, and inched his way up to sitting with many groans and complaints. “But why? It’s not my birthday, or anything.” He yawned.

“Consider her an early present,” Suzy replied. “I went to the shelter looking for a well-trained attack dog and ended up with Twinkles, here.” She unhooked the leash from Twinkles’ powder blue spiked collar as she spoke. “Go see your new master, Twinkles!”

“Tinkles?” Danny giggled as the dog clamored up onto his bed, tail going a million miles an hour, and began eagerly licking his face. “That’s a silly name.”

“Actually, it’s—”

“Aww, Tinkles. Little Princess Tinkles,” Danny was happily scratching the dog behind her ears and she was responding, her tongue lolling out of her mouth, tail thumping against his leg. “Who’s my dangerous girl? My pretty, dangerous girl? Who’s my good girl. You are! Yes you are, Princess Tinkles! Yes, you are!”

Suzy shook her head, laughing. At least Twinkles seemed to like her new name…and her new master. “Her recall command is ‘enough,’ and she’s a mix between a guard dog and an attack dog. She’s one of the few that will bond with a make caretaker, so I figured she was perfect for you.”

“She’s awesome,” Dan replied with a sigh, leaning back against the headboard. He felt so exhausted even just from doing this much. Tinkles let out a huff and flopped down beside him on the bed, her head turned slightly towards the door. 

“Good. I’m glad you like her.” Suzy kissed Dan’s forehead, frowning at the heat she felt there. “I came with news as well…but I’ll pass it to Brian. You’re burning up.”

“Sorry,” Dan murmured, his eyes falling closed. “I’m…so tired, Suzy… Everything hurts…”

“I know, pet,” Suzy furrowed her brow, pushing Dan’s curls away from his face. Up close, he looked truly ill, as white as a porcelain doll, his dark stubble a sharp contrast. He had deep purple grooves under his eyes, making them look sunken into his face, and he was the thinnest Suzy had ever seen him, and he’d been losing weight since she’d met him. “I brought you some food, if you’re hungry.”

Dan shook his head slowly. “I just want…sleep…”

“Okay, I’ll let you rest.” Suzy pulled his hair back into a ponytail (or, at least as much of a ponytail as his hair could ever become) and tied it with one of her spare hairbands. “Here, let me help you get settled.” She gently coaxed Dan down into the bed.

Danny curled up towards Tinkles, one arm flopping over the dog’s back. His eyes were already closed, ready for sleep. “What did you wanna tell me, Scuze?”

“It can wait, luv,” Suzy reassured him, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead. With his hair pulled back, he looked even thinner, and she hoped that Brian could coax a meal into him soon. He was certainly looking worse than some of her bonier girls. “I want you to get better first.”

“Mmkay…” Dan sighed, drifting back to sleep even as he replied to her.

Suzy smiled warmly, fussing with the bedclothes for a moment before scratching Tinkles behind her ear. “Watch over him, okay?” She told the dog.

Tinkles looked at her with soft brown eyes and gave a snort as a response. Her eyes certainly seemed to be watching the door to Dan’s room.

“Good dog,” Suzy whispered, grabbing her purse and walking silently out of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: "How to Name Your Scary Attack Dog" by Dan Avidan. To be fair, he did mishear Suzy...XD
> 
> That's all for tonight, folks! More soon! Keep those comments and kudos comin! They really help.


	22. Crawl on Your Belly

“This is the place.” Jon removed the cigarette from between his lips and blew out smoke into the night sky. With the sun went all the warmth of California’s weak winter, and with the darkness came the chill of undercover operations.

Arin, dressed casually for once in jeans, a tee shirt, and a black sweatshirt with some Japanese kanji embroidered along the pockets, craned his neck back to look at the office building, squinting as he did so. The gang leader let out a sharp whistle through his teeth. “It looks like nobody’s home.”

“I mean, I was able to trail them right to their hideout,” Mark piped up, fiddling with the zipper pull on his own sweatshirt. “Anyone would want to move house after that.”

Arin nodded, frowning thoughtfully. “Wonder if there’s an alarm system. Fuck! I knew I shoulda brought Barry.”

“I’ll go check,” Mark volunteered. “I’m not as good as Barry is, but I’m okay at tech. Worst case scenario, I trip the alarm, we bail, and come back with him tomorrow.”

Arin glanced at Jon, but the assassin was more focused on stomping out his cigarette in the dirt. He looked to Mark and nodded to give him the go-ahead, then nudged Jon into the alleyway between the two office buildings. It was as ordinary a front as you could get, an office building, but that was safer. Can’t exactly have neon signs advertising your real business or people come asking questions. 

Important people. Like “I can’t be bribed” people. People with a capital “P.”

“How much you wanna bet the new kid trips the wire?” Jon snorted, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants.

Arin nodded absently. He’d stupidly left his hair down, and the way it was tickling his chin and sticking to the film of sweat building on the back of his neck was capital “I” irritating. He was more anxious about Mark getting hurt. As much as he tried to be aloof, that wasn’t his style, and he really cared a lot for his close circle of trusted friends. That included the young street rat.

Mark gave the signal, a pigeon’s cry. Arin returned it, and the two heavier men slipped out of the shadows and mounted the stairs up to the entrance of the building. The front was a large rotating door that looked broken, its glass smashed on one side. Beyond was what looked like a ransacked reception area, complete with a smashed fish tank and a few dozen unfortunate tropical fish.

“There’s no security that I can see,” Mark told Arin in hushed tones. 

“No shit.” Jon gestured to the room beyond. “Looters obviously beat us here.”  
Arin groaned like a dying thing. “Guys, it’s a ruse, obviously.” He rolled his eyes and shouldered past them. “I’ll bet you anything this ransacking was done by Sexbang’s men.”

Jon followed on Arin’s heels with Mark close behind. “What’re we lookin for, Grumpman?” The assassin asked.

“Records, names, addresses, anything useful.” Arin kicked a half-assembled stack of papers over, watching them float harmlessly to the ground. He caught Mark’s eye. “You said you recognized him as a user, right?”

Jon was bent over one of the toppled filing cabinets, but his hackles rose knowing Mark had too much information on this guy. He was rightly suspicious of the new kid. After all, whose to say Mark wasn’t working for Sexbang now? If that was even his name. Pfft, how dumb was Arin, anyway?

And no, Jon Jafari, assassin extraordinaire, was absolutely not jealous. Whatever gave you that idea?

Mark nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. Some kind of upper going by his pupils. It’s hard to tell which one.”

“At least we have sobriety over our enemies,” Arin replied, striding across the room to hop up onto the secretary’s desk, absently turning over the papers. They had words on them, all right, but apart from the totally normal headings (references to a hotel business, of all things), many of the words were replaced with a simple “xyxy” pattern, like old video games used to use for long text blurbs. “Clever girl,” he muttered under his breath, shoving the papers away. Arin turned his whole body around to face Jon, nose deep in a dented filing cabinet. “Anything?”

“Nothing.” Jon frowned. “A buncha receipts for stupid shit like doughnuts and office supplies, plus a ton of filler paper.” He slammed the drawer shut and opened another, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Arin hummed and shifted to look at Mark, sprawled on his stomach on a nest of papers. “What about you?”

Mark snorted. “Most of this is the same page copied multiple times. It’s an instruction sheet for building that fish tank there.” He tilted his head towards it. “In German.” He added. “And this one is a list of tips for caring for saltwater fish.”

“He’s a clever sonofabitch, this Boss Sexbang, I’ll give ‘im that.” Arin hopped off the table and made a sweeping gesture. “C’mon, boys, let’s call it a night. I didn’t expect to find anything damning, anyway.”

Mark eagerly got up off the floor and Jon made to follow…when he started giggling. “Oh, Arrrrrriiiinnnn,” he sing-songed, “look what I found!”  
Arin turned around, frowning. “It’s just a drawing of a cat. So?”

“Not just that.” Jon threw the business card at Arin like a frisbee. “It’s the Madam’s calling card.” 

“No shit!” Arin caught the card and turned it over in his hands. It wasn’t anything special. In fact, it looked like generic Halloween bullshit; a drawing of a black cat with one green eye, the other closed in a cheeky wink. The other side of the card was blank, just black, but Arin trusted Jon’s judgement. “Calling card?”

“Yeah, it’s for use of services, dude!” Jon bounced up and down excitedly. “We got ‘im!”

“We do indeed.” Arin grinned sadistically. “I think it’s time I paid the Madam a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Arin meets the Girls ;)


	23. The Birds in the Bush

Arin looked up at the tall, faded brick façade of the converted apartment building. According to Jon, this was the place. It didn’t look like much, that was certain. The once-vibrant red of the bricks had faded so much that it reminded him of old apartment buildings in New York. But, then, if you’re running a brothel in plain sight, it’s only natural to want to look unassuming.

Arin took a deep breath and walked inside, pushing the heavy wooden door aside.

The interior of the room was well-lit and looked kind of like the lobby of a hotel. A warm, deep red was painted on the walls, and framed pictures (mostly dreary landscapes) in tasteful, gold frames were everywhere. Horrifyingly, there were quite a few taxidermy bugs displayed on the wall here and there, with little gold plaques stating what they were. There were red, high-backed lounge chairs placed at a tasteful distance from each other with a low coffee table on top of a richly colored Persian rug. There were four coasters with a beetle design on each one, several issues of Playboy Magazine, and a vintage Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.

There was a high desk at the front of the room, again reminding Arin of a hotel, and a young woman around his age or slightly younger was smoking while lazily reading a magazine on an iPad. She had long red curls with black highlights, half done up in a messy bun while the rest flowed over her shapely shoulders. She had a strapless, low-cut red dress that was practically falling off her sizeable breasts. Arin guessed that was as good an advertisement for this “company” as anything.

He walked up to the desk and cleared his throat, removing his hat and holding it awkwardly by his side. There was always something dangerously mysterious about forward, beautiful women that made him feel shy.

The woman looked up. She had dramatic false lashes and a black smoky eye makeup look, paired with a blood red lipstick. Her features were sharp, attractive, and Arin thought again that she was a good advertisement for the “business.” “Hello, darlin.” She spoke with a flavor of a Southern accent, likely somewhat muted by living in this area. “Can I get you an appointment with a special lady tonight?”

Arin was suddenly reminded of a dial-in phone service: “If you know the extension of the party you’d like to reach, please enter it now.” He bit back a laugh and stood up straighter. “I’m here to see the Madam.”

“I see.” The woman turned slightly, reaching below the desk and producing a black velvet notebook. She wet her finger with her tongue as she flicked through it. “And does she expect you?”

Arin frowned. What was this, a whorehouse or an office building? But he kept his cool. After all, it’s likely the Madam wouldn’t choose to get her hands dirty in her own trade. “No.” He said tersely.

“I see.” The woman closed the book with a snap and brought up a device that looked like an old dial-up telephone like you might see in fifties films. But appearances could be deceiving; Arin could see that it was a cell phone holder. Clever. It matched the aesthetic of the place. “And whom shall I say is calling?”

“Atori Hanso, West Side.” Arin replied. Back in the day, Atori Hanso had been one of his codenames. Though he had enough power now to comfortably use his real name, he wasn’t sure he wanted the Madam to have so much power over him. Especially if she was aligned to Boss Sexbang, as indicated by the calling card found on his premises.

The woman nodded, picking up the phone’s receiver and using the connected cell phone to dial a number Arin couldn’t see. After a moment, she perked up, indicating that the Madam had picked up. “Miss Magic? There’s a gentleman of the West Side here to see you. Name of Hanso.” There was a pause, during which the woman jotted something down in a small notebook produced from her bosom. Arin noted she was left handed. “Mmhm. Yes. Uh huh. Got it. Thank you, Miss.” She placed the top of the phone back on the receiver and hung up the cell phone. “You may go up now, sir. It’s the room at the end of the hallway on the third floor.”

Third floor? Yeesh. “You got an elevator in this joint?”

The woman smiled mischievously. “Only for paying customers, sir. Good evening.” And she went back to her book. Great.

Arin turned to the elaborate staircase, begrudging the fact that he was out of shape, and started the laborious climb to the third floor. As he made his way up, he could make out the moans and sighs and labored breathing that meant sex behind many doors. Business was booming.

After what seemed like years, Arin reached the third floor. His heart was racing, and he was panting a bit too heavily. “Time to lay off the Wendy’s,” he huffed to himself. Maybe this was as good a time as any to try that new Paleo diet he’d been eyeing for an age.

The elaborate hallway was decorated in a similar manner to the lobby area downstairs. The walls were a tasteful deep red, again lined with portraits and taxidermy. And doors. So many doors.

Each door had a number and a peep hole, making Arin slightly uneasy. A few of these doors had slick noises coming from behind their doors, and he thought he smelled the distinct, acrid odor of weed coming from behind one or two. But the others were quiet; perhaps empty, or their occupants were otherwise engaged.

Most of the doors in the hallway were nondescript. A few were decorated, reminding Arin of college dorm doors or middle school lockers. But the door of the room at the end of the hall was painted black, with a skull knocker and no peephole. The door also sported a fancy crystal doorknob.

Curious, Arin lifted the knocker and rapped it thrice against the door. There was a moment of silence, and Arin could hear the rustling of fabric. Then, a soft, sweet voice emanated from the room within: “Enter.”

Arin turned the knob and stepped inside.

The room was small, with a mahogany coat rack off to one side, an end table, and a desk. There was a plush loveseat in a black and silver almost paisley-like pattern in front of the small window that overlooked the L.A. streets. On said plush loveseat sat two women, one with shorter pink hair, and the other with long black hair with a blonde highlight. The woman with pink hair was holding a chubby black cat on her lap and stroking it, cooing at it intermittently. She was dressed casually in a tee shirt and leggings. The words on the tee shirt were in fancy script and Arin couldn’t read them with the cat in the way. 

The other woman had a heavily made-up face with a sharp winged eyeliner and just as sharp blue eyes that regarded him with all the mirth of a snake looking at prey. She had on a maxi dress of semi-sheer fabric with what looked like a plain black bathing suit underneath. She radiated the goth aesthetic, and Arin almost shivered.

“So,” the woman crossed her legs, and Arin noticed she was barefoot with black polish on her toes, “you’re Atori Hanso. That right?”

“Yes.” Arin replied. “And you’re Black Magic.”

The woman, presumably Black Magic, giggled. She was young. Not much younger than Arin, probably (she had quite the youthful face), but Arin was amazed that she had a foothold here in the city of sun and sin. He wondered how much of that was due to Boss Sexbang. “Funny, he doesn’t look Japanese, does he, Birdie?”

The other woman looked up, and giggled. “No, he doesn’t much, Magic.” The two women tilted their heads together, giggling to each other.

“Well, clearly, your mom didn’t name you Black Magic,” Arin grumbled, stepping forward. “Look, can we just—”

The two women stiffened. “Don’t come any closer,” Birdie warned, her eyes suddenly hard. “We have guards on call. They will come if one of us screams.”

Arin held up his hands. “Calm down. I just want some information.”

“I know why you have come,” Black Magic replied lazily, leaning back on the loveseat. “Strip down.”

“What?” Arin growled. 

“You heard me.” Black Magic replied, with the same hint of mirth in her eyes. “Strip down.” Birdie giggled.

“Why?” Arin demanded. “I will not strip down for a bunch of…” He took a deep breath. Despite being gay, he did respect women and their choices. He was not going to allow himself to fall into Jon’s speech patterns and way of thinking.

“Whores?” Birdie finished for him, smirking. It was incredibly unnerving that they had him pinned; he was used to being in control.

“I was trying not to say it,” Arin mumbled.

“You must strip so that we’re as safe as we can be,” Black Magic replied. “I’m sure that lump in your pants isn’t you just being happy to see us.”

Arin reluctantly removed his pistol from its holster. This was his special, personal gun. It was pink and black and he’d had it custom-made after he left his previous gang. He handed it over to the women.

“Take that for me, will you, Little Bird?” Black Magic tossed her hand. 

Little Bird nodded and set the cat aside. It made a prrt sound and stretched, walking over into Black Magic’s lap. The other woman got up and approached Arin, taking the gun from his hand. To Arin’s surprise, she excellently and without hesitation opened the gun up and took the magazine out, placing both on the table before her.

“If I strip down,” Arin began, starting to see how they worked, “will you tell me about the drug lord of the east side?”

“Of course,” Black Magic replied. “You have our word.”

With a sigh, Arin began to undress. He unzipped his pants, letting them fall around his ankles, and undid his jacket and shirt, setting them carefully on the table before them. He set his hat down as well and flushed. He was completely exposed.

“He is handsome, isn’t he?” Little Bird mused, curling her legs underneath her. “Our gang leader of the west side is a force to be reckoned with.”

“Wait a second!” Arin yelled, startled. “How did you know I was the leader?”

“You don’t exactly hide yourself,” Black Magic pointed out. “Only a powerful gang leader would dare to have a gun that stood out like that.”

Arin groaned. She had a point. “Okay, fine. Who is Boss Sexbang? What’s his real name? And what the hell is his deal? He captured one of my men and let him go! Who does that?”

“Sexbang.” Replied the women in unison, answering his question.

“We can’t tell you his real name, of course,” Little Bird said lazily. “It’s something he has told to us in confidence.”

“Sexbang is not a “show no mercy” man,” Black Magic went on, “if he left your man alive, then he saw no reason to kill him.”

Or he got what he wanted, thought Arin. Maybe Mark is working for Sexbang after all.

“He is a crime lord much like yourself,” Little Bird said. “Only he doesn’t like to make it obvious.” There was an implied “like you do” at the end of her sentence that Arin didn’t like the flavor of.

“He was in L.A. before I arrived, and he let me set up close to his turf. We have an arrangement: protection and drugs for free use of my girls. Agreeable for all parties involved.”

“That’s disgusting,” Arin snarled. “Using your own girls as a bargaining chip.”

Black Magic’s soft blue eyes froze in quiet rage. “They’re in far better hands with him than with most clients, I can assure you. Including your dog that comes sniffing about.”

Arin was stunned. “You know that Tron was one of mine?”

“We put two and two together.” Little Bird replied.

“Not to mention that little weasel we saw snooping around,” Black Magic added.

Damn it. Matt was a part of Jon’s surveillance team. He hadn’t been too subtle, apparently.

“Can you tell me what he deals?”

“I can tell you he’s not a friend of meth and coke.”

“Thanks. That narrows it down.”

The girls giggled.

“Is that all?” Black Magic asked.

“One last thing.” Arin said. “What’s he like? Personality-wise?”

Little Bird and Black Magic looked at each other. “I think you should see for yourself,” Black Magic replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guess what? I'M NOT DEAD! 
> 
> I promise we'll finish this one, guys. And then, there's a sequel coming.
> 
> Did you guys miss this series? Are you excited to see what the future holds? Leave me a comment and let me know!


	24. King Me

Arin didn’t know what to expect when Jon opened the door to his office with raised eyebrows, a lewd grin, and an accompanying wolf whistle one afternoon.

Well, that was a lie. He knew the nature of the person who came to visit him, and he was not incorrect in his assumptions.

She was beautiful, curvy, busty, with thick thighs and a nice ass. She looked like a heavier Jessica Rabbit, and walked with that same, suave confidence, in chunky heels that thudded against the carpet covering the floor. She slipped the jeans jacket off her shoulders, revealing a low-cut, turquoise crop top and high-waist leggings. Her dark curly hair was like an 80’s fever dream, and she spoke with a muted New York/New Jersey accent as she made herself comfortable on the edge of his desk.

“Mr. Hanso, your presence is requested at the penthouse tonight.” She batted her eyes, showing off her fake eyelashes. “Miss Magic insists.”

Arin sighed, leaning forward with his chin in his hands, watching the muscles move underneath the satin fabric of her leggings. “And I suppose it would be useless to turn her down?”

The woman only giggled.

“And further details?”

“I’m just the messenger, sweetie,” the woman replied, sliding off of Arin’s desk. “Do the right thing and show up tonight, or there will be trouble.”

“When?” Arin asked, opening up his phone to make a note in his calendar. 

The escort tugged her jacket back into place, adjusting the faux fur collar. “Around 10PM should do nicely.”

Arin hummed as he made note of it. Ten at night was a little early for such a rendezvous but then, he supposed, a crime lord is a busy man.

If he was indeed meeting the infamous drug lord of the east side.

Arin’s stomach was in knots for the rest of the day.

~

“You’re doing what?!” Brian snarled, watching Dan move in and out of frame. The grainy footage from the encrypted Skype call was driving him a little insane, and he wished that he didn’t have to spend tonight looking after his daughter. “C’mon, tell me you’re joking.”

Dan snorted, sliding back into frame. “I fucking wish.” There was a snuffling noise, and then Princess shoved her big head in Dan’s lap. The thin man chuckled softly, scratching absently behind his guard dog’s ears. “I’d rather just go to bed.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair. Brian could see that his boss hadn’t even bothered to get dressed; Princess Tinkles was digging her nose into what remained of Dan’s belly, covered only in a soft gray tee shirt that said “Super Mario Bros” on it, and had cartoon renditions of Mario and Luigi sprawled across his chest. He was wearing plaid pajama bottoms, and one of his kimonos. Even as he smiled at his dog, he looked sick and sounded exhausted.

“You should,” Brian coaxed, feeling like he was trying to talk Audrey into taking a nap. “You look and sound fucking wrecked, and I’d be willing to bet you haven’t eaten more than a few bites of toast all day.”

“I had soup earlier,” Dan protested with just a hint of a whine in his tone, leaning forward into the webcam and messing up his curls, making them stand up oddly on the side of his head. “I’ll have more before I go see them. Pack a thermos.”

Brian sighed. “You’re really intent on going, then?”

Dan nodded, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “I have to. I don’t want to be indebted to the Madam.” There was an unspoken acknowledgement of just how shitty he felt in there somewhere, but Brian didn’t bring it up. This time.

“Don’t be stupid,” Brian lectured. “Bring your knife and have a sentry, just in case. I don’t like that you’re meeting him without me.”

Dan chuckled quietly, finally pushing his dog’s head out of his lap. “I’m not defenseless, you know. You taught me well.”

“I just worry you’ll be too weak to make use of them, when the time comes.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “I promised you I wouldn’t take any more Adderall until I gain ten pounds, and I’ve been smoking enough to get hungry twice a day. Happy now, dad?”

Brian chuckled. “Fine, fine. I get the point.” He sat back. “You understand that I am genuinely concerned for your safety, though. I have my reservations about the civility of this…this man, from the west side.” 

Dan had read him the description he’d gotten from Ringtail, one of Suzy’s girls. Tall, broad-shouldered, heavy but with some serious muscles, bit of a temper, carried a gun. It wasn’t exactly promising, nor did it sound like this conversation would be civil.

“Stay on your toes,” Brian added, his finger hovering over the disconnect button. “I need to go check on Audrey.”

Dan nodded noncommittedly, and let Brian end the call. Then, he turned his chair around, staring at his wardrobe. Turning to Princess Tinkles, he said with a soft rush of breath: “Girl, we’ve got work to do.”

“Ruff!” Princess Tinkles replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow...sorry for the long upload time! For those of you following my tumblr, (danneleighofthedeepbluesea), you know already that I've been suffering from a really bad depressive episode for about half a year now, which has kept me from writing fics. Or, at least, committing to completing them. But I'm determined now to get this one, and it's sequel, To Lift You When You Fall, done before 2018 is over. So...we'll see how that goes, on top of literally everything else I intend to do.
> 
> Also, I'm adjusting the tags to reflect the actual relationships you will find within the pages of this fic. I've decided not to be a tease.


	25. This Must Be the Place

Arin adjusted his leather jacket, opening another button on the sleeveless dress shirt he had on underneath (okay, so it was a shirt he’d ripped the arms off of…so?) as he looked up at the penthouse. It seemed to loom over him like The Ghost of Christmas Past always did in any of the “A Christmas Carol” movies. It was tall, foreboding, with eyes only for him.

He didn’t like this, didn’t believe it was the kind of neutral ground he would’ve wanted for a meeting with the notorious drug lord of the East Side. He was just waiting for it to be some kind of trap.

Well, at least he wasn’t walking into a trap unprepared. He patted his trusty pistol, tucked into the waistband of his jeans, and took a deep breath before pushing through the gilded doors at the street entrance to the brothel.

This time, there was no lobby attendant. There was, however, a very muscular woman with short-cropped hair in a tank top with some metal band’s insignia on it and baggy jeans sunk into an arm chair, big arms crossed over her chest. A slender wraith of a girl with long dark hair that went all the way down her back wearing a beanie hat and a sundress with leggings and a sweatshirt that was much too big for her was sitting on her lap. Both women fixed him with a cold stare as he entered.

“Uhh…” He floundered, unsure if he should draw for his gun or not.

“Second floor,” the burly woman said in a husky voice.

“Door nineteen,” added the slender girl.

“Thanks.” Arin smiled weakly before turning towards the stairs. With a sigh, he started up.

For it being ten at night, the penthouse was not alive with the noise of business. In fact, any sounds at all seemed to drain away as he came closer to the nineteenth door. He put his hand on the doorknob, thinking maybe he should get the element of surprise on his side, since it very well could be a trap set by Little Bird and Black Magic. 

You never can tell with women. That’s why they never seem to catch female serial killers.

Arin turned the knob and swung the door inward. He was expecting the room to smell like drugs, that sickly-sweet scent of marijuana smoke, but instead, it had a faded peppermint scent, and was lit warmly, much like the room where he had met the girls.

Before him was a navy blue loveseat that seemed to almost clash with the bright hue of the room’s orange-red walls. And on that loveseat, half-sprawled out, was the drug lord of the East, playing with a butterfly knife. He was dressed kinda like a nineties punk; red flannel shirt paired with a well-worn leather jacket, skinny jeans torn so much to shreds that his whole knee was exposed on one side, and black leather motorcycle gloves. The only thing that seemed to ruin the look were the tennis shoes on his feet. His hair was dark brown and curly, and was somewhat pinned in place by a black pom beanie with a safety pin in the fold, pulled down enough that Arin couldn’t get a good look at his eyes.

“Scrawny” was Arin’s immediate internal judgement. His second was that the man was skillfully sheathing and unsheathing the butterfly knife, and it was sharp enough to leave scuffs on his gloves. He drew his pistol, standing straight and tall, aiming it at the drug lord’s head.

“Hmph,” the skinny man’s lips upturned slightly, and Arin was suddenly reminded of a villain in an anime he’d seen once. “Hello to you, too.”

“Put down your knife or I’ll shoot,” Arin kept his voice gruff and straightforward. He knew how to get people to pay attention to him. Even though he didn’t look like much, especially with his “unmanly” love for the color pink, and his “unmanly” sexual orientation, he grew up in gangs, and he knew how this underground world worked.

The drug lord giggled. Actually giggled! “If you shoot me, not only will the lovely ladies downstairs come running and forcibly drag you out and into traffic, my assassin will be after you within the hour.”

Arin tilted his head curiously. An assassin. Okay, then. They had at least one thing in common. 

The crime boss snorted. “Besides, if I had wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already.” He withdrew the hand that had been tucked against his stomach and flapped it lazily. “I’m proficient in at least seven different styles of martial arts, and at least three types of knives.” He turned, revealing to Arin a lean face smattered with stubble, and dark eyes that fixed him with a surprisingly cold stare. “You’re outmatched, cowboy.”

Arin lowered his gun and clicked the safety on. The other man closed the butterfly knife and shifted, turning to face Arin directly. Even though he was tall, he didn’t look very intimidating, and Arin wondered how exactly this boney motherfucker had managed to build and maintain a drugs empire in the East Side.

“Why did you let my man go?” He demanded, keeping his stance tense and narrowing his eyes as he stood, trying to loom over the skinny boss.

Boss Sexbang gave Arin a smug look. “Because if I hadn’t, you would’ve been after me like a bloodhound. My intention wasn’t to kill him. I wanted to know your gang mark.” He shrugged. “Murder isn’t everything, you know.”

“What’s your name?”

“They call me Sexbang.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“How would you know? Perhaps my family, or I, for that matter, changed my name? Or it was spelled horribly wrong during immigration through Ellis Island?”

Arin sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was clearly dealing with a child.

Sexbang laughed, holding his stomach as he fell back against the loveseat. Arin made the distinct notation that he was skinny enough that ribs showed through his skin. “Very well, I’ll take pity on you. My name is a privilege I do not grant to many. You will have to earn my trust first.” He sat forward, his elbows on his knobby knees, chin between his big hands.

Arin had to admit that there was something…distinctly charming about him. Perhaps it was a snake’s charm, but still. “You run drugs in L.A.”

“I do.”

Arin’s free hand clenched into a fist at his side. “Drugs, they…they kill people.” He’d seen it time and time again in the gangs of his youth. Those kids had nowhere to go once the wars were over, and assimilation after the rival boss was executed wasn’t a smooth process. He had never been tempted, had always wanted a clear head, but his brother hadn’t been so lucky.

The last he’d heard, Nathan was still stumbling around the Everglades, desperately seeking his next high, drunk off his ass on bootleg moonshine. He had good reason to hate drugs.

For a minute, Sexbang sat in pensive silence, his dark eyes shifting out of focus. Then, he sat back. “I don’t deal the kind of drugs that naturally lead down that road,” he said coldly. “I know better than anyone what those drugs can do. I assure you, my streets are clean.”

“Then how—?”

“May I ask a question?” Sexbang looked up at Arin, clearly amused, mirth sparkling in his dark eyes.

Arin blinked, swallowing. “Yeah, sure.” A snake’s charm indeed.

“I don’t suppose you deal in bodies, do you?” Sexbang curled one leg under the other. “The disposal of a body for money?”

Arin frowned. “I don’t think it’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever been asked to do.”

“And call girls,” Sexbang switched legs, his eyes seemingly more focused on helping his comically long limbs try to move around each other than Arin. “I hear you don’t particularly approve of them.”

“Heh.” Arin ran a hand through his hair, removing the ponytail keeping it bound in the process. “It seems like there’s better work, for sure.”

“Would you say,” Sexbang began, his body tensing, “you hate them enough to kill them?” He lifted his head, and his eyes were deep and dangerous, little black holes swallowing Arin whole.

“No!” Arin backed up, sputtering in disbelief. “I wouldn’t ever—look, covering up a murder is one thing. Killing someone is a whole other can of worms!”

Sexbang’s eyes darted around Arin’s facial features, studying him, before he seemed to come to a conclusion and relaxed. “Good. I don’t want to start a rumble.”

Arin relaxed as well, but what Sexbang had implied unsettled him. “Wait…is something…?”

“Three of Black Magic’s girls have been brutally raped and murdered by an unknown John.” Sexbang explained. “The police have a case, but there are no leads thus far, and Magic has been hesitant to send girls out alone.”

“That’s awful!” Arin exclaimed. He might’ve disliked the profession, just as he disliked drug dealing, but he knew that, really, women had a right to do whatever they wanted whether he approved or not. They didn’t deserve to die in a vulnerable position just because they were prostitutes.

Sexbang nodded gravely, chewing on his bottom lip. He seemed to be getting pale, and a sheen of unrealized sweat was beginning to form around his beanie. “The only clue so far is that the last body found had a green feather tied up in the body bag with her.”

Arin’s heart jumped into his throat. Wasn’t Jacques a…? But no. It had to be a coincidence! It had to be!

He was startled out of his thoughts by Sexbang coughing. It sounded like a true, hoarse cough rattling around in his lungs, and Arin was afraid that, with so little to protect them, they might eject from his ribcage any second now.

“Are you all right, man?” Arin asked, concerned. He couldn’t help feeling an affection for this strange, oddly thoughtful, drug lord.

Sexbang nodded, clearing his throat. “I should go. I have business to attend to, and I should think you do, as well.”

Arin nodded, extending his hand to shake. “It was nice to meet you. Oh!” He smacked his forehead. “I forgot to tell you my name!”

Sexbang giggled, amused, tucking his hands away deep into the pockets of his jacket. “That would be nice, yeah.”

“You can call me Arin.” Arin replied after a moment of thought. “Pretty much everyone knows me by name in the West, so.”

“Arin.” Sexbang smiled. “All right. Goodnight, Arin.” He slipped past the crime boss like a shadow, opening the door. “I’ll tell the girls downstairs not to frighten you on your way out.” 

“Thanks.” Arin smiled back. “Goodnight, Sexbang.”

He waited a few minutes, and then began his descent. The lobby was devoid of anyone, girls or customers alike, and there was no sign of Sexbang.

It was like the man could vanish into thin air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barreling on towards the end!
> 
> I did this instead of working...o.O


	26. Am I More than You Bargained For?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!! This chapter contains brief references to homophobia and use of the word that rhymes with "maggot." If that stuff triggers you at all, you may want to proceed with caution, or skip this chapter altogether.

It couldn’t be. Arin refused to believe it.

You can’t miss the fact that your best friend and right-hand man is a murderer!

But as Arin thought back, the more he wondered. Jon had been acting erratically and out of character, missing meetings, showing up late to important jobs, refusing to talk to him or even just hang out, saying that his place was a wreck…

Arin didn’t want to believe it. He’d known Jon for eons, it felt like. They were brothers in arms. From the early days of Arin’s leadership of the Gators, the gang he had spent most of his childhood climbing the ranks, Jon had always been a little bit of extra muscle. And when Arin passed on his title to strike out for a new city to conquer, Jon was the only one of his supposedly loyal subjects to follow. 

You don’t miss the fact that your best friend is a murderer. 

Arin jumped when he heard a knock on the door. He was at home, trying to figure all of the information he’d learned from his simple conversation with Boss Sexbang out, trying to sort out reality from fiction.

He didn’t let people come to his house. That was his private space, and he had a considerable network of loyal and not so loyal cronies. He didn’t want any of them knowing where he lived. The only visitors he usually got were Girl Scouts.

And Jon.

Arin hurried through his house, passing plain white walls decorated with Sailor Moon and Mega Man memorabilia, hoping against hope that it was going to be a Girl Scout at his front door.

But when you want Girl Scouts the most, the world rarely cooperates.

Arin opened the door to find Jon on his doorstep. His friend looked uncharacteristically stressed, his clothes crooked and out of sorts, hair greasy and unwashed, beard unevenly trimmed. Jon was a man who cared about his appearance. He wasn’t one to wear dirty clothes or forget about personal hygiene.

“Jon?”

“Hey, Arin,” Jon greeted cheerfully, smiling. “Sorry to bug ya on your day off, Grump Man. Can I come in?”

“Um,” Arin stepped aside. “Yeah, sure. C’mon in.”

“Thanks, Grumpman! I owe ya!” Jon shuffled inside and Arin closed the door.

“What’s this about, Jon?”

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Jon replied, taking off his cap and wringing it between his hands.

“All right,” Arin leaned heavily against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Good news first.”

“We were able to trail Boss Sexbang.”

~

Being sick was really kicking Dan’s ass.

He was mostly better, but if he strained himself, tried to push himself to work, he’d end up shivery and feverish, crawling into bed to sleep. That was unacceptable. He had to go back to Adderall.

So he broke his promise to Brian. He stopped smoking weed and started taking Adderall. 

He was losing sleep, losing his appetite, and losing weight, but at least he could work.

He was sure Brian suspected, but there was nothing he could do. Black Magic was putting pressure on him to find the murderer and put a stop to their rampage so that she could feel safe letting her girls out to work again. The police were obviously not going to be any help; the killer had been careful.

The feather belonged to some species of parrot. Dan couldn’t be arsed to remember what it was called. But that was the only clue they had, so it had to be important.

But Princess Tinkles had to be walked, and so Dan was taking a break from his Adderall-fueled workday to see that she was taken care of. He could spare a few minutes of late afternoon California sunshine, anyway.

He was getting close to his front stoop when Tinkles stopped in her tracks, baring her teeth and growling. She smelled something off, and Dan trusted her instincts. He reached into his pocket and drew his karambit, ready to fight to the death if need be.

~

Arin raised an eyebrow. Interesting, though now that he’d gone to talk with Sexbang in person, he didn’t particularly want to incite a rumble between the two gangs, not when there was strength in numbers and a possible alliance in their future.

Besides, he didn’t want to be on the wrong side. At the end of the day, both he and Sexbang ultimately wanted the prostitutes safe. No one deserved to die just because of their profession.

“What’s the bad news?”

Jon groaned. 

~

He was outnumbered, four to one.

Four strong men, with big muscles and broad chests, against one malnourished, slight man. How was that fair?

“Boss Sexbang,” one of the men spoke in a heavy Southern accent, “if ya come with us quietly, we won’t halfta hurt ya.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Dan gripped at his karambit, letting Tinkles’ leash go. “Leave me alone and there won’t be trouble.” He was keeping an eye on the men, who were slowly moving to surround him.

The first one lunged, and Tinkles jumped, snarling, biting down hard into the exposed meat of his arm. The man howled, lurching back, trying to shake Tinkles off. A second man lunged to wrap his arm around Dan’s neck in a choke hold. Dan brought up the blade and stabbed into his arm, making him let go with a stunned cry.

Dan pulled back the weapon, sliding down into a fighter’s stance. The third man was aiming at Tinkles with a gun, the first one ordering him to shoot.

“No!” Dan ran forward with all his strength, digging his karambit into the third man’s side. The fourth made to tackle Dan while he brought the third guy down, but Dan rolled out of the way so that the fourth only served to drive his blade home. The injured men had dissipated, and Dan gave Tinkles her recall command, bringing her back to his side. The fourth man groaned, rolling off of his dead comrade. Dan stood over him, drawing his blade. “Who sent you?” He demanded. “Speak!”

The fourth man simply kept his eyes on the knife, afraid. With all his might, Dan drove the blade home into his chest.

Panting, Dan pulled back, into the shadows, Tinkles not far behind. He sank into the darkness of an alleyway, on his ass on the cold concrete as he reached blindly for his phone. Tinkles had blood on her muzzle, and she was licking his face. Dan had blood on his hands and his clothes, and he just couldn’t stop shaking.

“Brian,” Dan murmured into the phone, “Brian, please, I need janitors at my location.”

~

“You did WHAT?!”

Jon hid behind his hat, cowering in fear. “I’m sorry, Grumpman! I thought if we could capture ‘im, it’d be a big win for us!”

“You IDIOT!” Arin growled, stomping as he paced furiously. “He has connections in the East we could’ve used! I doubt he’ll trust us enough, now that you’ve sent MY men after ‘im!”

“Why do y’care so much?” Jon suddenly retorted. “C’mon, Arin. You didn’t used to be like this! We could’ve captured him and taken his empire for ourselves! That’s what we always did back in the day!”

“He’s got a bigger toehold in L.A. than we do,” Arin replied, nearly spitting he was so furious. “We need to rub shoulders with him, not have his assassin on our backs!”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Jon shrugged. “You could’ve just kept him as your own personal whore.”

~

Brian sat with Dan in the alleyway while the janitors cleaned up. Deep Blue and Aquamarine were sat in their patrol car nearby so that the activity was covered. No one looks twice in the city of cops and crime if they value their life.

Brian had brought Dan a blanket to help with the shock, and Dan was curled in on himself, shivering, his clothes and hands still bloody. Tinkles was curled up half in his lap, trying to comfort her master.

“I’m sorry,” Brian looked at his hands, twisting his fingers around each other. “I should’ve been there. I couldn’t protect you.”

Dan tipped over to lean against Brian’s shoulder. “You did fine,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Brian started shaking. “Stupid! I shouldn’t have let you outta my sight! Not after you went to see the Boss and he got to know what you looked like!”

Dan’s glassy eyes found the arm of one of the dead men, the sleeve pushed up to reveal the cherry blossom tree of Arin’s gang. 

“We need to go talk to him.”

Brian turned his head. “Why?” He was scathing in his disbelief.

Dan turned his head up towards Brian. “I don’t think he ordered the attack, Bri.” He yawned, closing his eyes. “He’s a good man.”

Brian looked out towards the janitors as Deep Blue turned the police car’s lights on. “If you say so, Danny,” he said, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulders.

~

Arin advanced on Jon, his powerful frame towering over him. “Get out.”

“What?” Jon laughed.

“You heard me,” Arin sneered. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Hey, whatever, man,” Jon replied, sauntering around Arin, whistling as he opened the door. “You know I don’t judge you. You can be a dirty faggot if you want. Doesn’t bother me.”

Arin’s fists clenched as the door closed. Hot tears ran down his face.

The other Gators had called him that, too, once they found out he was gay.

The faggot who would never belong. It was any wonder he gave up his empire, even gave up being himself for a while. He’d come out to Jon as a necessity, and he thought Jon had understood. But no. His “friend” had never been a friend after all.

Arin punched the wall. “Stupid!”

He should’ve shot him while he had the chance.

“Next time,” Arin vowed, voice shaky with tears, “I won’t hesitate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there!!!! I can TASTE the end! Can you? :D


	27. In for the Long Haul

Brian stood by the door, frowning as Dan stumbled around his room like a newborn deer, Princess Tinkles weaving against his legs, looking nervous but almost tripping her master in her concern. Good idea, poor execution.

Which, really, described her master’s actions at the moment.

“We don’t even know where to find him,” Brian snapped, his tongue harsh due to his own concern. His whole body physically hurt trying not to help Dan stand up and walk properly. “Let alone if he ordered the attack.”

“He didn’t.” Dan sat on his bed, sounding a bit breathless. His eyes, though, were hard and determined. “He doesn’t wanna start a rumble.”

“So,” Brian said coldly, seeing Dan reaching for a pill bottle on his desk and moving to swipe it away from him, “you’re trusting him based on…what? Blind faith?”

“Hey!” Dan whined. “I need another Adderall dose, Bri! We’ve got work to do, and I’m tired!”

“As you should be.” Brian replied neatly, pocketing the pill bottle. “Your adrenaline is winding down, you probably haven’t eaten today, and you’re talking about waltzing into enemy territory!”

“It’s not blind faith,” Dan spat. “I have instincts, too, y’know!”

“Your instincts haven’t always been the best!” Brian snapped, only to regret it as he saw Dan’s face fall. “Shit, Danny, I didn’t mean…that was a low blow, I’m sorry.”

Dan sighed heavily, a hint of a sob in the back of his throat. “No, you’re right.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Tinkles nosed her way under his limp arm and nuzzled into his stomach, whimpering. “I need to feed Princess and myself, and find out where Arin is before I go running into the West Side without backup.”

Brian sighed in relief. “There’s the boss that I know and love. What’s the plan?”

Dan flopped back onto the bed, sighing. Princess Tinkles stood on her hind legs, her tail cautiously wagging. “Well, I’ll start with Ross. He’s been all over the city because of his ecstasy ring. I bet he’s been to a few clubs in the West. Arin isn’t too hard to find; after all, he rides in a rose gold limo.”

Brian seemed to catch on to something. “Wait…Arin? He told you his name?”

Dan nodded. “He claims everyone knows him by name out West. Guess it makes sense, since his empire isn’t exactly subtle.”  
The older man made a pondering noise in the back of his throat. This “Arin” guy was dangerous.

The plaintive cry of an empty stomach disturbed the quiet of the room. Dan frowned in discomfort, putting a hand over his complaining belly, only to pull his hand away in disgust. “Ugh. I’m still covered in blood.”

“Go wash up and change,” Brian ordered gently, smiling. “I’ll make us some food. D’ya want anything in particular?”

Dan sat up, licking his lips. “Chicken parm?”

“I think I can do that,” Brian replied, winking. “Don’t forget to bag up those clothes. We need to burn them to get rid of the evidence.”

“Goddamn it,” Dan complained, “I really liked this shirt!”

“Well, next time, don’t wear white when you’re walking the dog!” Brian teased, leaving with a cackle before Dan could flip him off.

~

Arin went through the motions of feeding his cats robotically. As soon as he opened the bottom cabinet under his sink, Mochi and Mimi came trotting in, their comical bodies wriggling back and forth as they moved. Mochi took his spot at Arin’s feet, purring up a storm and rubbing his legs, while Mimi sat down in the way of the cabinets, meowing at him.

Arin chuckled, rinsing the food bowls before opening the cat of food, evenly distributing it between the two. Once he’d set the wet food out, he took out their dry food and refilled it, also taking the filtered tap water he kept on hand and poured more water into their bowls.

Normally, he’d be jamming out to Japanese pop-punk while deciding what to order or make for his own dinner, but tonight, he was in complete silence.

This house really was too big for him to live in alone. He missed having company. For an introvert, he was a highly social one.

Jon’s words still stung. He felt sickened, wronged.

Betrayed.

What if Jon had killed the call girls? That green feather clue that Sexbang mentioned reminded him too much of Jacques, Jon’s beloved pet bird, for his liking. The sad part was, even though he felt hatred towards Jon, he couldn’t pin the murders on him willy-nilly. He still needed proof.  
And for proof, he needed Sexbang. If Sexbang knew so much about the murders, then it was clear that he was being fed information by someone. Possibly even the police.

Arin sat down on the couch, listening to his cats eat. Mark was his best tracker, and he’d gotten the closest to Sexbang of all of Arin’s men so far. If anyone could find out where Sexbang lived, he was sure it would be Mark.

His friend and protégé picked up on the third ring. “Y’llo?”

“Hey, Mark,” Arin began conversationally. “Sorry to wake you, but I need to ask you a favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written myself into a corner.
> 
> Shit.
> 
> I'll figure it out, don't worry.


	28. We've Come This Far

Ross was already sitting at the kitchen table when Dan finally left his room, Princess Tinkles excitedly rushing down the stairs ahead of him. He’d gotten dizzy a few times just from standing and bending down to get clothes out of drawers, so the simple act of putting on suitable clothing had taken much longer than he expected.

Ross had a large map of L.A. spread out on the table, and Dan sat down beside him. Brian appeared behind him, sliding a plate of chicken parmesan onto the table before him. The food smelled good, but it was hard for him to concentrate on eating it when there was work to be done. Only Brian’s fond glares kept him picking at his meal.

“I’ve been talking to my contacts in the west basically since we caught that guy that was a part of the big boss’s gang,” Ross said between bites of food. Dan didn’t mind sharing, although the part of him that was slowly getting an appetite was telling him he could easily finish the whole pan. “It seems like he’s pretty secretive about his lair.”

“That’s understandable,” Brian said, steepling his fingers as he watched Ross scribble lightly in pencil along the map’s surface. “Very few people know where you live after all, Dan.”

Dan nodded. “It’s logical, but that doesn’t make him easy to find. I really need to talk to him about the attack.”

Ross’ head shot up, blue eyes wide in surprise. “Holy shit! You were attacked?!” His head snapped over to Brian. “You didn’t tell me that! I would’ve talked to the other dealers! Brought backup!”

“I don’t want all that,” Dan flapped a hand in Ross’ direction absently, using a finger to shove a spaghetti noodle into his mouth. “I don’t think the big boss ordered the attack. When I met with him, I got the impression that he wasn’t looking for a gang fight.”

Ross snorted, elbowing his friend in the side. “Fair suck of the sav, mate! You’re on some new type of drug. I need some of that!”

Dan huffed out a laugh, shoving Ross playfully. “C’mon, man. I only take Adderall. You know that.” 

“Is there any trail that we can follow?” Brian asked, leaning forward. He loved seeing his boss laughing and happy as much as the next loyal best friend, but there were lives at stake.

“Uh, well,” Ross circled a few places on the map, “I know from a few of my west side regulars that it’s fairly easy to follow the rose gold limos that are always traveling from place to place, carrying his gang wherever they need to go. He’s been known to just casually buy out places he frequents, though, so usually, there aren’t a lot of people around to actually see him.”

“I think that’s our best bet, honestly,” Dan shoveled the last of the chicken on his plate into his mouth. “Let’s go. If we hurry, we might be able to get the jump on him.”

“Are we seriously just going to wait around until we find a limo, then follow it?” Ross asked incredulously as Dan got up and pulled on his jacket, Tinkles beside him, wagging her tail.

“It’s the only lead we’ve got,” Dan replied, his voice uncharacteristically grim. “Let’s go.”

Brian sighed as he looked over the scene in the kitchen. Most of the chicken parm was still intact, and Ross had been the only one of them to clean his plate. Dan’s still had half his meal left on it. 

The assassin sighed, slipping the leftovers into the fridge, only pausing to note that Tinkles’ food dish was empty.

Well, at least one of them was prepared.

~

Mark’s feet were starting to hurt.

Arin had woken him up, asking him to go to the east side and find Boss Sexbang’s house. This was no easy feat; the east side’s boss was as elusive as a shadow, and despite the massive nest of curls on his head, he didn’t dress any differently than other denizens of L.A. 

Mark was an excellent, street-smart tracker, but even he couldn’t find a needle in a hay stack.

He’d been asleep because his undercover operation had forced him to keep weird hours. That, and his neighbors had a rather noisy dog that kept him up at the strangest hours of the night. You’d think they were running crime in L.A., or something. 

Yet another residential neighborhood. It looked to be swankier than a lot of the neighborhoods he’d been sticking to, and he’d been wandering it on a whim, hoping against hope that maybe Boss Sexbang, not unlike his own boss, enjoyed a little bit of luxury. But after finding nothing, he was about to turn around and try another street when he saw a telling detail.

A mass of messy curly hair.

Mark tore down the street, sore feet be damned. “Boss! Boss Sexbang!”

The tall, thin drug lord seemed to draw up in a nervous, but guarded, stance, and a shorter, blonde-haired man stepped half in front of the boss, the dog at his heels growling fiercely. Mark noticed too late the man he recognized as the “Ninja” looking murderous as he moved soundlessly to stand beside his boss.

“W-wait,” Mark panted, lifting his head to watch the Ninja, all too aware that the assassin was looking for a chance to use a blade, “hear me out. My boss—Arin—he wants to speak to you.” He chanced a glance at Boss Sexbang. “Will you come?”

The hazel eyes turned slowly from wary to calm, and the boss relaxed. “I’d like nothing more,” he said. “Do you think he’ll mind if I bring my dog?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dan still can't get a decent bite to eat. I wonder how that will effect him later. ;)


	29. The Long Road

Arin had been pacing restlessly while he waited for an update from Mark. Too late, he thought about the negative consequences of sending one of his younger operatives straight into enemy territory. And the fact that Mark hadn’t reported in since arriving in the east was not settling the fear and anxiety swirling around in his stomach.

An unfamiliar unmarked and not very remarkable blue car pulled up to the front of his house. Arin’s heart skipped a beat as he watched several people get out. The first was Mark, looking bedraggled like a half-drowned cat, the second an older, podgier gentleman with silver hair dressed in black, followed by Boss Sexbang, a rather large pitbull-looking dog at his heels. The dog wasn’t all pitbull; there was something lean in its shoulders and face, something that spoke of a lithe fighter versus the typical heavyweight champion look of most of the dogs of that breed. Of course, if Sexbang had brought an attack dog, there was no telling what he intended to do…or what the dog could potentially do to his poor cats.

Arin stepped out of the house hesitantly to meet them. Sexbang was talking to a fourth man with an impish face still sitting in the car in hushed tones. The man was looking at Arin with distrust in his pale eyes, but, finally, Sexbang turned away from the car. He smiled at Arin in greeting, his eyes tired. Now that Arin was getting a good look at him head-on, it was obvious that the other man was much too thin. He had the potential, it seemed, for a broader chest and a stronger look about him, but his body didn’t hold much more weight than lean muscle. Arin felt his breath catch in his throat, and he cursed himself for being so into the delicate twink body type.

Instead of a proper greeting, he found himself saying: “I have cats.” He looked nervously at the large dog.

“Oh!” Sexbang perked up. “She’s a good girl. I promise. But here.” From within an inner pocket in his jacket, he produced a pale pink leash, which he expertly clipped to her blue collar. “I wouldn’t want any animals getting hurt unnecessarily.”

Arin suddenly was struck by the thought that, if any crime boss were vegan, it would probably be the one standing before him. Weirdo. “Thank you,” he replied genuinely, letting out a sigh of relief. “Mark, you should go home. You look exhausted.”

“I can have my car drop him,” Sexbang piped up pleasantly, to the obvious dismay of his silver-haired companion. Could this be the assassin he’d spoken of?

Arin nodded. “Go ahead, Mark.”

“Right.” Mark clearly didn’t feel comfortable leaving his boss alone and outnumbered. But Arin was confident he could handle himself in a fight, should it come to that. He was expecting civility from Sexbang, however.

After the car had driven away, Arin turned, offering his house soundlessly. The two other men took his invitation, and soon, they were all in Arin’s living room. Sexbang had found a comfortable armchair and had perched carefully on it, his weight barely making a divot in the cushions. He held his dog’s leash tight in one hand, but it did seem as if the creature had no interest in doing anything but keeping its master company. It flopped down at Sexbang’s feet, closing its eyes with a snort.

The other man, the one that made Arin distinctly uneasy, slid into position by the door, angling himself towards the clearest path to Arin. The younger man recognized that move, one he had seen Jon make many times before. Yes, he was looking at Sexbang’s assassin. Arin swallowed nervously.

“Don’t worry,” Sexbang said cheerfully, throwing one leg casually over the other. “The Ninja doesn’t bite…much.” He giggled, and the Ninja cracked a smile. 

It didn’t look like a particularly nice smile…but that was probably the best way to describe the look on his face. Arin shuddered nonetheless, not really put at ease by Sexbang’s statement. “Right…”

“I should mention, though,” Sexbang went on, “that he will show no mercy if you ordered the attack on me.” The drug lord’s eyes went hard as stone for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You ruined my favorite shirt. That wasn’t very nice.”

Arin shook his head. “I didn’t! But someone close to me did. That’s why I wanted you to come here.” He took a few steps around the room, not quite pacing, as he got his thoughts in order. He could feel both men watching him, and it didn’t really help his anxieties. “My…my friend…he’s been acting…strange lately. His behavior has changed; he’s been late to important meetings, and been particularly jumpy. And…” He swallowed, looking out the window. “…I had him running surveillance on your brothel. So I know he was making use of their…services.”

“It isn’t my brothel,” Sexbang corrected. “I help Black Magic, and she helps me. But I digress.” He leaned forward to scratch around the dog’s ears. “You’re saying that your friend may be responsible for the killings?”

“Yes.” Arin groaned. “As much as I hate to admit it.” And he really did hate to say it, or even think it! He and Jon had been friends for a long time. Jon had been loyal to him when no one else was, and had helped him build his empire from the ground up. Jon had helped him pick the location for their hideout. His knowledge of weaponry had netted Arin his sweet customized pistol. He didn’t want Jon to be responsible for the murders.

He had loved him, too, once.

There was a beat, and Sexbang shifted. “Hey, man,” he said gently, leaning forward, “maybe we can rule him out. There’s no harm in going to ask a few questions, look into things.” He smiled reassuringly. 

Arin nodded, rubbing the tears from his eyes. So far, he had resisted the urge to cry, and he wasn’t about to burst into tears with two capable strangers in the room.

“But this friend,” the assassin’s voice, dry and humorless, spoke from the corner. “He did order the attack on my boss, didn’t he?”

Arin took a breath and nodded again. “It wasn’t my idea. He went over my head. He has that kind of power in the organization.”

The Ninja sucked in a breath, his eyes narrowing. Sexbang looked at him, and shook his head; the assassin’s face reluctantly slipped back into an emotionless mask.

“Luckily, the goons didn’t kill my dog,” Sexbang replied seriously, “or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Now,” he stood up with a grunt, and the Ninja stepped forward, looking concerned. Arin couldn’t help worrying as well; a strong wind looked like it could topple Sexbang at this point. “Let’s go and see this friend of yours.”

Arin nodded, heading to the door.

He sincerely hoped that, for once, his gut instinct was dead wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part of the murder mystery where the audience knows something the characters don't. I think that's cool, don't you?
> 
> Last update for tonight. Here's hoping I can keep this momentum going, though.


	30. Clipped Wings

They walked in silence, trying not to look suspicious. Sexbang was walking his dog, who seemed happy enough to stay by its master’s side, wagging its tail happily as it trotted along. Arin was walking beside him, hands in his pockets, keeping an eye out for the apartment building that Jon called home. The Ninja was not far behind them, and Arin could feel those cold eyes willing daggers into his back.

Arin jumped as Sexbang bumped into his shoulder, and he glanced over at the other man. “Are you all right?”

Sexbang nodded, running a hand through his messy curls. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just not used to walking so much.”

Arin, seeing how skeletal the drug lord looked, winced in sympathy. “Are you at least feeling better?”

Sexbang smiled shyly. “Marginally. Thank you.”

Arin nodded away the acknowledgement, and wondered how the skinny man could stay on his feet. They’d barely walked a block, after all. But it was towards the end of the day, and it would be fair to blame his inattention on tire. Somehow, though, given the glare the Ninja had given him when he suggested that they walk, it was down to something far more serious than that. 

Arin sighed. He really was in deep if he was already starting to worry about Sexbang’s wellbeing.

The sun had been low in the sky when they’d met up, so the last of its orange glow was just washing over the city as they approached the apartment building. Arin pointed it out silently, and was about to go up to the door when Sexbang grabbed his arm, effectively stopping him from going anywhere. Arin blinked. For someone so skinny, Sexbang clearly had a lot of strength to him. “The Ninja’s going to have a look around, see if anyone’s home,” Sexbang explained, giving a signal to the assassin, who obediently disappeared around the side of the building, a shadow in the coming night. Meanwhile, he walked to a small patch of grass housing a nearby tree, letting his dog sniff around, then pee. From the way it was doing that, it was obvious the dog was female. Huh. Arin turned to watch for the Ninja, and was caught by surprise as Sexbang knelt in front of a bag of garbage near the dumpster on the side of the building.

Arin joined him, kneeling down as well. Sexbang was sitting on his haunches, the dog standing guard beside him. She didn’t growl when Arin got close, though she did look at him with her big brown eyes. Afraid that petting her might not be a good idea, Arin turned his attention to Sexbang, who was rifling through the trash. “What are you looking for?”

“Clues,” Sexbang replied, moving a damp chunk of cardboard and searching underneath it. Arin looked up and around, wary of any passersby who might just find this weird, when Sexbang gasped, making him turn back around.

The cardboard had been hiding a bird cage that looked to be in terrible condition, as if it had been thrown out a window several stories up. Inside the cage was a small green and yellow bird.

“Jacques,” Arin murmured, remembering the distinct yellow stripe the bird had along its belly. 

Sexbang looped the end of the dog’s leash around his wrist, then worked to open the bent lock of the cage. He removed the dead bird with a certain reverence, holding it away from his dog and cradling it in his palms. Arin watched as Sexbang gently spread the bird’s wings. 

“They look broken,” Arin murmured, “and the cage is wrecked.”

“The bird seems to have broken its neck as well,” Sexbang hummed, his thumb brushing over the bird’s cheek, coming away bloody. (Arin noted distantly that Sexbang had really weird thumbs.) “Could it have fallen out of an open window?” He went back to inspecting the bird’s wings.

“No,” Arin replied. “Jon loved Jacques…he’d never let any harm come to him.”

“Unless it was evidence against him.”

Arin jumped, only to find the Ninja behind him, smirking. “Sheesh! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“It’s not my preferred method of killing. Don’t worry.”

“That doesn’t reassure me!”

“The feathers,” Sexbang said in a clear tone of voice, obviously meant to draw their attention. “They match the ones found at the crime scene.”

“Are you sure?” Arin asked, leaning forward.

Sexbang nodded, gently turning the dead bird over and spreading out a broken wing. “I saw the pictures. The feathers had the same bright shade of green with black tips that these feathers have.”

“That doesn’t mean Jon is guilty,” Arin pointed out.

The Ninja frowned. “But nobody is home, and the bird cage appears to have been thrown out of a window. Does your friend live several floors up?”

Arin nodded reluctantly, dread filling his gut. “He lives on the fifth floor.”

“Well, there you have it, then,” the Ninja replied, smug.

Noticing that Arin looked distraught, Sexbang rested a hand on his shoulder. “He may only be an accomplice, but this is very telling. We have to find him. Now.”

“Find who?”

All three men turned around, to see a dark figure taking up most of the alley. He had black hair, a scruffy beard, a portly figure, and a newsboy’s cap sat square on his head. His dark eyes looked vicious in the fading light of the setting sun.

“Jon!” Arin stood up, but did nothing else. The Ninja bent to help Sexbang stand up.

“Hello, Arin,” Jon replied, though his tone was…different, somehow. More scathing. “I see you’ve brought friends. So, this is Sexbang in the flesh, hmm? Disappointing. But that’s obviously why you’ve fallen for him. You always did have a soft spot for the worthless dregs of society.”

Arin blushed, lowering his eyes. He hadn’t intended for such a private fact to so quickly be pushed out into the open, when he didn’t even know how Sexbang felt about him in return, if there were any feelings of mutual attraction between them at all. 

“So, you’re Tron,” Sexbang spoke, his voice smooth and deep, like silk blowing in the wind. His dog was snarling at the intruder, though she seemed on the defense rather than the attack. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The words were polite, but the tone was cold, indicating it was really the opposite of a pleasure.

“Yeah, that’s me. So what?” Jon laughed. “What are you planning to do?”

“Did you kill the girls?” Sexbang asked, getting down to business. The Ninja squared his shoulders, slipping between Jon and Sexbang, a protective gesture.

Jon laughed, bright and clear. “The whores, you mean? So what if I did!”

Arin choked on his own sharp intake of breath. “Jon! I can’t believe—”

“Oh, shut up, Arin,” Jon groaned, rolling his eyes. “Whores aren’t people! The day they go into the whorehouse is the day they become public property. They don’t deserve pity, or respect. They’re just objects.”

“Those girls had families, jobs! People who cared about them!” Arin snarled.

“Bullshit!” Jon retorted. “Nobody cares about whores.”

“I do,” Sexbang replied. “And I know you will pay for killing them.” He dropped the dog’s leash. “Sick ‘im, Princess.”

It was then that several things happened in quick succession. Arin saw Jon reach for his gun, then think better of it, instead deciding to turn tail and run, the Ninja not far behind him. Sexbang, too, trotted off as fast as he could. But Arin knew where Jon was going.

Jon had a hideout, a labyrinth where he would lead his prey, down by the old abandoned fishing district on the waterfront. And Arin knew every nook and cranny by heart. 

He knew a back way in.

Arin ran off, making sure his gun was drawn. He wasn’t going to let Jon get away. Not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter looked better in my head. Oh well.
> 
> I think that no one besides me is really reading this, since feedback died down after chapter 23, but I want to finish it, because I have sequels to write, so I have to.


	31. End of the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter also contains mentions of the "f" word that rhymes with "bag," and that other one that rhymes with "maggot." So if those words are triggering to you...you might just want to read the note at the end instead.

Arin could hear the deep barks of the guard dog Sexbang had called “Princess” echoing off the high walls of Jon’s trap.

The old fishing district was abandoned by nearly everyone, except the seedy underbelly of crime and the homeless, destitute, those with nowhere to go. Arin had found the labyrinth quite easily, and he could feel the high brick walls choking him, only lit by the soft light of streetlamps few and far between somewhere above. Back in the old days, this might’ve been where fishermen unloaded their cargo, taking it to the equivalent of slaughter houses. Now, it was the cave of a predator.

A predator that he had trusted enough to call a friend.

Arin didn’t fully understand Jon’s motives. He’d always been a little awkward with women, tending to say the wrong thing (usually something sexist or alt-right), getting him ditched or slapped or worse sometimes. Why did he take his anger specifically out on prostitutes? Was it because they were “easy?” 

He’d never know Jon’s motives, and he didn’t care to, either.

The smell of fish and old brick still clinging to the walls gave way to the scent of Axe, which meant he was getting close to the heart of Jon’s lair. The end of the labyrinth was just a dead end in the wall, sprayed with gear graffiti in gray and yellow and black; Tron’s logo. A streetlamp spilled warm light on a stage-like area, cleaner than the rest of the lair, where Jon would spent time torturing his victims, often in a shooting-gallery type game. Arin had watched, laughed, participated, even. But he had never wanted Jon to kill women without cause. Even if he didn’t exactly like or trust prostitutes.

Arin slunk into the shadows, not even cold though he was in short sleeves. His gun was heavy in his hand, stiff by his side. He could hear footsteps and the dog coming closer, could hear the animal growling, Jon crying out in pain. He could surmise that Princess had jumped him.

Jon stumbled into the lair, panting, holding his arm to his side. His sweatshirt was torn, and Arin could just see blood. Wow. He didn’t want to get on Sexbang’s bad side, if the dog could do that much damage! He could hear the dog quite close, hear the exhausted padding of footsteps that no doubt belonged to Sexbang; they sounded as awkward and gangly as his form, and Arin could imagine that one so skinny didn’t have much energy to spare.

Jon slumped against the stage, panting. Before the dog could follow, Arin stepped from the shadows, his gun trained on the wounded assassin. “Hello, Jon.”

Jon jumped, looking up with wide eyes, but he relaxed marginally when he saw Arin. “Grumpman! Thank God!” His face turned sour, eyes narrowing. “Stupid fucking dog did a number on me. I’ll have to get a rabies shot.”

Arin advanced, caging the other man in. “I can’t let you leave, Jon. Not after everything you’ve done.”

Jon scoffed, his eyes looking over Arin’s shoulder. “What, you’re just going to take his side?” He spat at Arin’s shoe. “You think he’s going to love you? No doubt he fucks the prostitutes for fun!” He laughed. “Nobody can resist a service like—”

The gun was against his throat.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Arin snarled. No doubt Sexbang and the Ninja were behind him now. He could hear Sexbang calming the dog. He pressed the gun’s nose into Jon’s throat, his finger on the trigger. “He’s worth ten times what you are, Jon.”

Jon’s hand wrapped around Arin’s wrist. “Yeah, right. You just like him cause you’re a stupid fag.” He laughed in Arin’s face. “Fags can’t control themselves! I could see in the beginning how you wanted me. Did you touch yourself for me in those early days?” He tilted his head down. “Gimme a kiss, Arin.”

Arin pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was loud in the quiet alley, and no doubt would soon alert police. Jon’s body slid to the ground, crumpled in on itself, limp and helpless.

Arin was shaking, his ears ringing. He jumped when a hand curled around his wrist, the fingers sure and cold. 

“Give me the gun.” The Ninja’s cold eyes were flicking over him, taking in information. Despite the aggressive stance, his words were almost kind.

“Why?” Arin asked, perhaps stupidly. He heard Sexbang huff a laugh.

“We need to get rid of it,” The Ninja replied calmly. His eyes flickered to Sexbang. “Boss, you’ve gotta get him out of here. I’ll take care of cleanup.”

“Right.” Sexbang nodded, pushing himself off the wall. He took Princess’ leash in one hand and approached Arin, closing his hand around Arin’s wrist, tugging. “This way. Come with me.”

Arin’s feet felt like lead, his body cold except for the place where Sexbang was holding onto him. “But what about…?”

“The Ninja can handle himself,” Sexbang replied, tugging more insistently as he started to break into a run. “C’mon!”

They ran. Arin paced himself behind Sexbang, breathing heavily, the adrenaline helping him as it kicked in, making him stronger.

He’d killed a man. 

He’d killed Jon.

Arin focused on Sexbang. He’d killed Jon to protect L.A., because he had to, because Jon was threatening Sexbang, was a danger to his life…

Sexbang’s hair was long and curly and bounced as they ran. Arin knew he was in too deep now. Their alliance was sealed. At least he hoped. Too late, he considered the fact that Sexbang would take him as a prisoner, torture him, make him bleed out somewhere on the cold, hard floor of some abandoned garage. His Ninja knew what he was doing when it came to covering up murder, apparently.

But no. Sexbang brought him to a mid-size house, typical of the east side of L.A., big and white and minimalist in nature, with Spanish influences as far as the roof and other structures went. It could’ve belonged to anyone, but Sexbang had a key.

Only once they were inside did the frantic nature of their retreat calm. Arin and Sexbang both collapsed against the door, breathing hard. Princess, panting heavily, put her big head on Sexbang’s knees, and the lanky man chuckled breathlessly, wheezing a bit as he scratched behind her ears.

Sexbang hadn’t let go of his hand. He seemed to notice this and let go, a bit of color rising to his cheeks. Arin reckoned he could only tell because Sexbang was so pale, his thin chest heaving. He looked like he was about to pass out.

Hesitantly, Arin wrapped an arm around Sexbang’s bony shoulders, and the other man wilted against him, breathing heavily, his eyes closed. As his breath calmed, and the dog lay at his feet, Arin was struck by the thought that he felt no remorse for killing Jon.

It was almost as if that event was just meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One threat in L.A. is snuffed out.
> 
> It's almost over now, folks!
> 
> Just as a side note: this is fiction, and I obviously don't condone murder as a problem-solving measure.


	32. But Where Do We Go from Here?

Days passed in a sleepy haze.

Reports surfaced in the local paper of a pink gun found submerged in Santa Monica Bay, and the severed body parts of a man in his late twenties was found scattered in the Santa Rosa mountains. The fingers and toes had all been cut off, and no head was ever found, which made identifying the remains extremely difficult. Whispers of a possible serial killer in the area kept the innocent at home, locking their doors and keeping careful watch of their children.

It was business as usual for Arin until he was summoned.

At dawn, a mere three days after Jon’s death, Arin drove his mini cooper out to Sexbang’s address nestled in L.A.’s east side. He waited outside the house until Sexbang came out in a Def Leopard tee, a red plaid flannel, and jeans.

“Hey,” Arin greeted, hiding a yawn behind his fingers.

“Hey,” Sexbang smiled at him as he buckled himself in. “You mind getting breakfast somewhere? I’m starving.”

“Sure,” Arin said.

They ended up getting Styrofoam to-go containers from a beachside place, the only thing open this early in the morning, and drove out to the pier to watch the sun slowly rising over the city.

Arin was munching happily away at his bacon and eggs, but Sexbang had barely touched his pancakes saturated in maple syrup, despite the fact that he had said he was hungry.

“I’m going to go away,” he said finally, his voice sounding abused.

Arin swallowed, glancing over at him. Sexbang was fiddling with one of the extra buttons on his flannel. He had so many questions. Where did he and Sexbang stand, relationship-wise? Were they friends? Lovers? Did Sexbang even want to be? “Where?”

Sexbang sighed, mechanically carving a bite from his pancakes, stabbing it with the provided plastic fork, turning it over, watching a drop of syrup drip off the corner. “I have a country estate, where I go sometimes.” He put the bite in his mouth, looking quite reluctant to do so. Once he’d swallowed, he looked over at Arin. “I’m very sick. I need to get away from the city for a while.”

Arin looked at the skeletal face of the east side crime boss and nodded. Sexbang looked far worse than the simple word “sick” could describe, if he was being honest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Sexbang replied, turning to stare out at the lapping waves. “It happens.”

“Will you be back?”

“Of course.” Sexbang smiled, but it faded fast. “Will you miss me?”

“Yes.” Arin surprised himself with his honesty.

“You can come and visit me,” Sexbang replied. “I’ll have someone give you the address.”

“Thank you, Sexbang.”

Sexbang huffed out a soft laugh. “Dan.”

“Hmm?” Arin turned to face his friend. Sexbang turned towards him as well, resting his hand over Arin’s on the console.

“My name is Dan.”

“Oh.” Arin said, quietly. “Okay, Dan.”

Dan chuckled, and forked another bite of his pancake. Arin closed his eyes and let the warm L.A. sunshine wash over him, like a warm morning shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read or left comments or kudos! It really means a lot to me!
> 
> Special thanks to skyhillian, who made me aesthetics for this story, and who once upon a time let me rant to her about all my plans for this fic. She also told me all about adderall. Thanks, hon!
> 
> Now...we have the sequel, "To Lift You When You Fall."


End file.
